Trouble Ever At Their Heels
by Lintulinda i luvasi ello eldar
Summary: The War of the Ring has ended. Confinement to Minas Tirith does not suit its king. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli enter the Druadan Forest. But not all evil has left Middle-earth. What will become of them? Explore the Wild Men of Druadan...
1. Default Chapter

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Lord of the Rings, or any of the characters within Lord of the Rings. They are all the work of the amazing Professor J.R.R. Tolkien!!!! (Heh, and we can't forget Peter Jackson and Newline Cinemas...) I'm not earning anything from this, except maybe amusement. Reviews are always appreciated and criticism is welcome as well. Onward to the story then....

The War of the Ring had ended and many spites dealt onto Middle-earth during the time of the Dark Lord's second rise to power were slowly beginning the process of healing. Where the mighty trees of Fangorn nearest Orthanc had been maliciously felled by foul folk of Isengard to make way for the ways of metal, saplings had taken shallow roots. In the land of Mordor, Barad-dûr was smote in ruin and Oroduin had overflowed its baleful ire across the ragged plains.

A wary peace was about the land, for those still suspicious of evils would not be comforted by the disappearance of one... especially when Sauron had been once thought to most to have met destruction during the Second Age by the blade Narsil, Isildur wielded. But it had not been so, and things of great importance, things that should never have been forgotten, drifted to words of myth and fable. Of course many had thought, save perchance the wise, that folklore was a thing oft of falsities. But perhaps this wariness now was a thing needed, for without it, wickedness could return unhindered and nearly unseen perhaps to terrible degrees. Perhaps the War had granted Middle-earth's inhabitants with wisdom?

Yet the dark hand of Sauron was a thing of the near past, and at least those of Gondor and Rohan, and indeed all the kingdoms and races of Middle-earth, save the Orcs and the foul things akin or allied with them, could rejoice for the One Ring, wrought of malice and hatred, had been cast into flame and the heinous Maia's reaching hands had been smote. All that was good and green in the world had not been ruined. Mayhap it came very nigh, and mayhap there was demand for mending, but it had endured nonetheless.

And now we shall turn away from those that are gone, and turn to those that are. From the glimmering tower of Ecthelion, the white tree, emblem of Gondor, flew in the breeze from its place upon many a banner. In the White city, Minas Tirith, the king of Gondor had taken his rightful place upon his throne. King Elessar, Aragorn son of Arathorn, was looked upon with a fondness unseen before by many past rulers and the kingdom reveled in this new leadership. At his side stood always his Queen, the fair Arwen Undomiel, Evenstar of her people. To the North in the land of the Horse-lords, Eomer ruled upon his own newfound throne in the Halls of Meduseld. It seemed that the two great kingdoms were appeased.

To a lesser extent, though one no less significant, it was marveled by those of Mirkwood, now Eryn Lasgalen, and those who dwelt in the depth of Erebor at how their kin, one from each order, had befriended each other. In truth, many a person wondered at the sight of Elf and Dwarf arguing good-heartedly rather than at blows with one another, though Legolas and Gimli more often than not would enter friendly spars. The son of Thranduil, he who had imprisoned Bilbo and his companions, was now able to share mounts with the son of one who had been amongst those companions, the Dwarf-lord Glóin.

Though not now always at the other's side as they had been throughout the War of the Ring, they shared company as oft as was possible. Legolas, now lord of Ithilien, and Gimli, lord of the Glittering Caves, where he had lead a fraction of his kin south from Erebor, never let a chance at jesting their confident pass. In fact, oftentimes it was in the halls of Minas Tirith that the two bickered most, pleasuring Aragorn and all those lucky enough to be in their presence with their sometimes pointless, but welcomed, quibbling. This is where Dwarf, Elf and man alike strode presently, their footsteps, save for the Elf's, echoing throughout. The strange pair had arrived at the White City's mithril gates earlier that very morn, the Dwarf borne on the back of Legolas' Rohan mount, Arod. The mithril, might it be mentioned, had been supplied by Gimli and his folk, and the Dwarf never missed a chance to boast of it. It had been a rare sight indeed, for those who knew of the conflicts the two races faced, and the guards had watched them ride with curiosity. Yet perhaps this was because they found the two companions strange when alone, and possibly even stranger when together?

"Nay, Gimli. Say you that your axe outweighs my bow in prowess? Ah, but how sadly you are mistaken, Master Dwarf. Your diminutive stature seems to affect intelligent thought on your behalf. What good will one axe do against a rushing foe? Throwing axes, mayhap, have some use...but what good do they when your arms are so stout as yours?" Said the Mirkwood prince in his musical voice. Gimli, hustling in the stead of the Elf's long strides, as well as Aragorn's, gave a loud huff at this. Aragorn inwardly groaned. Once again, Elf and Dwarf were arguing, and over such a simple matter.

"And what honor is there in felling your foe ere they reach you? Besides, it takes little skill to fling about your arrows, but I would like to see you try your skill at an axe!" Retorted the lord of the Glittering Caves, lending a hand to rest on the axe that hung from his thick belt.

"Likewise I would like to see you shoot a bow. If it requires so little skill, I feel it suits you perfectly," answered Legolas with a grin that he was failing to mask.

"I would make a fine shot," blustered Gimli, puffing out his chest somewhat.

"Indeed, you are the perfect target and comparable as far as wits, and perchance stature as well, with one. But, forsooth, from my memory of our stay in the Golden Wood, your shot was not so fair. I daresay I feared for those nearby."

"Come now, my friends," intervened the wise king, seeing the Dwarf send a sharp glare in Legolas' direction. "Gimli, will you let the words of an Elf ruffle your feathers?"

"Alas, Aragorn, I fear that Gimli has ruffled his feathers a time too many, for I see not a single feather on him," chimed Legolas, leaning in closer to Aragorn as if to whisper.

"And whose fault might that be, Elf?" Replied Gimli in his gravelly tone, hastening to catch up with his companions, whilst his boots echoed loudly in the spacious hall. He still wore his coat of chain mail, despite the fact that warfare was behind him for the moment, and the links jingled as he went.

"Blame not I for your bad temper," said Legolas, laughing in his fair and melodious voice. Upon subduing his mirth, more because he wished not to feel the swift retribution of his dwarf friend than because he wished to converse, Legolas turned once more to Aragorn. "But wherefore, my friend, have you summoned us hereabouts?"

"Ah, at last we have come to that," said Aragorn with a smile, while lowering his voice so as not to be heard by any others then those intended. "The truth of the matter is...that I wish to get out of this confounded castle, and city altogether, for that matter. I was hoping that the three of us could perhaps go for a hunt...anything so long as I do not have to look upon the cold stone of this city a moment longer. I realize that, because I am now king, I am not so free to do as I will as I once was...and I must take my peoples' well-being into consideration before my own...but confinement does not suit me. I must get away, if only for a short while."

"And what of your Queen? Surely she would not agree to this?" Inquired Legolas quizzically, while narrowly escaping an attack from Gimli by sidestepping. The Dwarf had every intention of using Legolas' momentary distraction to his full advantage.

"Actually, I have already discussed it with her. Arwen has consented to it, so long as I take a trustworthy guard with me and return in a timely manner. She has consented also to hide my absence."

"To cover for you, you mean," said Gimli with a chuckle, trying, and failing, to seize the Elf by his jerkin. Legolas was too swift for him and merely elongated his stride and was able to leave Gimli behind to grasp naught but air.

"Aye, if you wish to say it so. But what say you? Will you come with me?" Aragorn stopped and turned to both his confidants, looking at them with hopeful eyes. It certainly did appear that this new confinement was having an effect on him, though it was barely visible to the untrained eye. Arwen must have seen this too, and both Elf and Dwarf were grateful that she had been so understanding.

"Of course we will," said Gimli without hesitantion, answering for both and giving Aragorn a pat on the back. Legolas nodded his own consent, confirming that Gimli had answered truthfully. The Elf's eyes were twinkling brightly with curiosity. It would appear that he too longed for adventure, adventure that the present had utterly neglected to provide. It was true he loved to be amongst the trees and forests, and would never truly tire of this, but he yearned for more to occupy his mind and also a distraction from the callings of the sea. Looking down toward Gimli, Aragorn found that this was also the case, for when he peered past the shadow cast by the bulk of Gimli's helmet, he found a similar happiness.

"Where will we go?" Asked the Elf with growing wonder.

"We will go where our road leads us," replied Aragorn with a shrug of his shoulders. Legolas had been expecting such an answer, and smiled in response. It was characteristic of Aragorn to let the earth guide him rather than his own two feet, and Legolas supposed he missed the life of a Ranger terribly.

And so it was that the three companions were to set out on a journey once more, though without need for haste or strife. Throughout that day, preparations for their departure commenced. In truth, much readying was unneeded, for Aragorn had factored all this into account soon after arriving at the idea for a short reprieve from his duties. Supplies had been assembled prior to Legolas and Gimli's arrival and all that had been left to do was ready the horses and wait until the very first light of day. They did not wish to leave during the night, though this would offer the most concealment, for it would make travel far more difficult. So, they had resolved to hasten away from the White City before the sun shed its light upon it; in this way they hoped to eliminate being seen, though it would be difficult to slip past the guard even at such an hour. But it would be manageable. Now all that was left was the inevitable wait. It was yet night, scarcely past midnight, and all three were eager to be on their way.

Both Aragorn and Gimli had gone to sleep, and although the king of Gondor had tried to persuade the Elf to do so as well, it had been to no avail. Elves, Legolas had explained for what seemed the thousandth time, do not sleep in the manner that mortals do. To this, Gimli had remarked that Elves were simply daft and quickly succumbed to slumber thereafter. Legolas, in hopes of passing the time, had begun the construction of more arrows, though this had been unnecessary seeing as he had well over forty already. Eventually, though, he had been forced to abandon this task, because he ran out of the essential fletchings not long after he had started. After this, he had anxiously gone about grooming Arod's white coat. He soon became indifferent to this task as well, partially due to the fact that his mount was none too happy to be disturbed from his own standing slumber.

He had then proceeded to perch himself dangerously on the city wall to gaze out at the numerous stars whilst singing to himself, giving the night guard many a fright when he had nimbly leapt astir about the edge. To them, it seemed almost a trick of the eyes; to see a slender form outlined in the moonlight, leaping precariously here and there seemingly uncaring of the sheer drop that he would face should he stumble. At some point during the night, he had slipped into an Elven daydream, leaving the guards in a state of confusion. His eyes were clearly open, for that was wont of the Elves during 'sleep,' though the guards did not know this, but he had made no sound for the majority of the time aftermost his singing ceased.

When the stars and moon had begun to fade, though darkness still enshrouded the world, Legolas returned to complete awareness. Upon turning, he was amused to meet the stares of the guards who had been studying him ere his wake. Without a word, he glided silently past them and headed straight for where he thought his companions to be. Sure enough, he met the former Ranger in the halls without demand for search. Gimli, on the other hand, had yet to make his presence known. Rooms had, of course, been permanently designated for them, as well as for the remainder of the Fellowship that yet lingered in Middle-earth. Legolas' room was scarcely used, and the bed even less, but Gimli, in his search for a bed, was known to situate himself wherever he deemed comfortable. And so, finding him in the mornings was of some difficulty. This was, to some extent, also the case with the Elf. Because he did not favor resting in a confined place, or resting altogether, for that matter, it was oft that he wandered off during the dark hours of the night, though he tended to be considerably more timely about returning to the others.

At last, Aragorn and Legolas found the Dwarf in one of the rarely used quarters nearest to where they had been before deciding upon resting. It had been no surprise, and neither could help from laughing when the Dwarf had been located on account of the loud snoring that emanated from behind the doors. After rousing Gimli, they hastened to the stables; Gimli being in more of a daze then full awareness, more or less trailed behind them, occasionally cursing to himself about the need for sleep.

Arod and Brego waited for them in the stables. Only a minimal amount of time was spent here, for all preparations had been previously made. Aragorn had saddled Brego while Arod was allowed to go unhindered by such, for Legolas insisted it was unnecessary, much to Gimli's disapproval. Once Legolas had nimbly swung onto his mount's back, Aragorn had assisted Gimli onto the horse hindmost Legolas. This was the Dwarf's usual seat, and though he had a good deal of dislike for riding and the animals in general, he seemed most comfortable there. After this, Aragorn opened the doors, pulled a cloak closely about him so as to leave unrecognized, and mounted Brego. The three headed quickly to the main gates, where Arwen had informed the guards situated there that Legolas was in need of a swift departure after receiving a summons and they should not hinder him.

The city shrank quickly into the distance behind them as their horses galloped away beneath them, their hooves leaving crescent shaped impressions in the soil and grass much resembling the waning moon. The sun began to rise swiftly now, but they were well out of eyesight of those in Minas Tirith by the time the city was outlined in its orange glow. Their new adventure had begun. Presently, they were allowing their horses to run free of any reining done on the riders' parts. Their intent was merely to seek whatever would be found and to occupy their minds elsewhere from the duties cast upon them. The day was becoming fine indeed, and the weather was calm and in good spirits. Nary a cloud was in the sky, and the ones that were drifted in a variety of swirling shapes. The only sound to be heard was the thump of their horses hooves beating against the earth and their own breathing, occasionally punctuated by a leisurely conversation.

The horses galloped side by side, and the riders themselves were in good spirits to match the weather. Legolas was glad to be in the wild once more. He did not care for the things of royalty and much less great cities. He preferred rather the open. He rode bareback on the white stallion, his long hair flowing behind him and seemed to have aught a care in the world. Gimli, on the other hand, was desperately clutching the Elf's waist. He was terribly uncomfortable even at a smooth canter or slow walk even and his facial expression gave both other companions none too few laughs. The most humourous instance of all had been just as they had cleared the gate of the city. Legolas, knowing full well that they would not be spared Gimli's boasting of the mithril gates, had murmured something to Arod who had happily complied. Just as the Dwarf had intended to open his mouth, Arod reared into the air and pawed at the sky. Legolas, being a far more experienced rider, had enjoyed the sudden leap, but Gimli certainly had not. All that he could do to stay on was clutch the Elf's waist even tighter, and at this Legolas had jested his companion throughout much of the early ride.

It seemed that they now headed northwards up the Great River, in the direction of Cair Andro. Legolas had suggested they head towards Fangorn, but Gimli had adamantly spoken against this. So instead the three had resolved that perhaps they would head towards Mirkwood, for Legolas was familiar with that area, and then loop back to travel across the Westemnet on their homeward journey. They were welcome in the realm of the Horse lords, and thought perchance they would also head to Edoras. Yet all this travel would take quite a bit of time, and Aragorn was unsure if Arwen could hold off interrogations concerning the king's unexpected absence long enough to allow all this. Yet, the whole of this planning would certainly be subject to change, they decided, for in truth, they themselves did not know where they wished to go.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Well, there you are. I've started this, the beginnings of my second fanfic, but have no intentions of abandoning my other story. I just felt the urge to write something different from what I had been working on...and, well, this is the product of that. I really hope you enjoyed it! I should be adding more soon...and I plan to add chapter twelve to my other fic in the very near future. I just want to take this chance to thank all the reviewers from my other fic...and although it has become extremely redundant, I mean it when I say that your reviews are appreciated and extremely encouraging. Your opinions are all valued greatly. Until next time!

-Jamie (Lintu...)


	2. The Druadan Forest

DISCLAIMER: As always, I do not own Lord of the Rings, Middle-earth, or any of the characters pertaining to it... they are all property of the wonderful Professor J.R.R. Tolkien (whom I hold in the utmost respect) and Newline Cinemas, etc. I earn absolutely nothing from this... except maybe amusement.

The riding had become a rhythmic beat, steady and unchanging as the horses' hooves pawed against the earth. The three had veered to the northwest before midday after passing the ravaged city of Osgiliath, straying from their intended course along the Great River and heading toward the Stonewain Valley. They did not know however, that this was where they were headed, only that the Druadan Forest lay northwestwise and this was the direction they now traveled and Cair Andros was certainly no longer their destination, if it ever truly was.

Legolas appeared almost to be watching something far afore them, perhaps it was the edges of Greywood, or even Druadan itself. He seemed nearly anxious, but also curious, and his bright eyes danced in the sunlight. The Dwarf who rode behind him seemed at last to have become at least minimally confident in his riding skills, or keeping from falling off, as he saw it. He had quickly lessened the grip he held around Legolas' midriff when he had realized just how tight it had been, in almost an embarrassed state. The Elf had laughed at this, and Gimli had felt suddenly very self-conscious and began fidgeting somewhat. Legolas smiled warmly, aware of his friend's discomfort.

Aragorn rode slightly in front of them, going only at a fast walk, leading the way though he was sure he was not reining Brego in any particular way. Instead of the fast gallop they began at, they had slowed to a more leisurely pace for the horses' benefit, though both Arod and Brego had enjoyed the sprint while it had lasted. There was no rush to reach where they were going, only to distance themselves from the sight of those in Minas Tirith, and this they had already succeeded in doing.

It was late afternoon when the thick green of the forest first came into view, for Aragorn and Gimli, at least. Legolas had been studying the trees and land about them long before, and seemed to see something more, something that even as they neared, the other two could not. Legolas brought his horse closer to Aragorn's so they walked again side by side.

"There are faces amidst the trees. They are watching us," whispered the Elf. Aragorn gave a nod, and turned his eyes to the forest once more. There were not many, but faces, indeed, were mingled with the brown bark of the tree trunks. From what Legolas could discern from the camouflage, their hair was dark and they had no beards or hair of that sort. Moreover they were quite short in comparison to the race of men, only standing sometimes close to four feet, and were very broad of shoulder and had thick legs. In some ways, their stature reminded Legolas suddenly of the Dwarf who rode behind him.

Their faces were wide and eyes deep-set with somewhat flat noses and thick, black brows. But they seemed almost to stare endlessly and stood as still as though they were made of stone, taking in everything with piercing eyes. An interesting folk they were, though some of the Rohirrim had viewed them as Wild Men. Regardless, they were wise people in their own sense. In relation to the Folk of Haleth, they were regarded as a wholly different kind, and the Haleth were, in turn, regarded by other Atani, Edain allied with the Elves, as a people apart.

"Aye, they are."

"Who are?" Asked Gimli, feeling quite left out of the conversation and also growing tired of hearing naught but the hoof beats of horses.

"The Druedain, my friend, or Woses, as you may know them. Do you not remember? They aided Rohan, and Gondor much, in turn, when the Chieftain of their people, Ghân-Buri-Ghân told of those allied with Sauron guarding the Great West Road. He led Théoden through the Stonewain Valley so they could aid Gondor on the Pelennor fields unseen by Sauron's Army, for they were far outnumbered. It was a mighty deed."

"And one that you rewarded well, did you not? You declared the Druadan to be theirs, and that no man shall enter without their leave," said Legolas, apparently pondering the subject.

"That I have."

"We will not enter, then?" Asked Gimli, peering around Legolas to get a clearer view then the back of the Elf's jerkin provided.

"Nay, we shall not disturb them. We will go around, mayhap we should follow the Great West Road for ourselves?"

"I do not object... though I would that we could pass through the trees of Greywood and that we could meet these Druedain. I have heard some of them, and hear also that they know much of plants and growing things... so much, in fact, that they rival even the Elves. I would speak with them of such," said Legolas.

"I swear it, Elves truly think of naught but trees...and stars also," muttered the Dwarf, though far loud enough for all to hear, with a shake of his head. Both companions smiled, though Legolas shook his head as Gimli had.

"If you indeed wish it, you may ask this of them...though I do not know how they may answer. Éomer has said that they were not unfriendly, though they appeared wary. It seems also that they would rather be left alone by others, though you are no Man but an Elf, therefore I know not what they would think of such a request."

The horses came to a halt in front of the very entrance to the forest, waiting to know what they should do. Legolas seemed to think a short while over whether or not they should hazard a trip into the trees. He wanted to, it was true, for he had never been able to speak to these peoples and was curious of their ways. It was said that perhaps they were more culturally primitive, while they were still very wood-crafty and knew the ways of nature. They were also known to be skilled in stone carving. A smile spread across Legolas' fair lips.

"The Edain have ever been Elf-friends..." began Legolas, "and I am forsooth an Elf. If they permit it, then I would walk beneath the boughs of Druadan. But how do we gain their leave?" Asked the Elf, staring once more into the trees.

"I know not, but their language is altogether different from the common tongue, although there are some, such as the chieftain, who speak it, roughly albeit."

"Perchance we must simply ask," though Legolas aloud, "for I know they are nigh, and am sure our presence has not gone unknown."

Gimli grunted at this; he did not hate forests, but he could truthfully say he did not love them either. Furthermore he would much rather be surrounded by stone than green, and was showing little enthusiasm about entering this wood, though he favored it greatly to Fangorn. That had been an experience he did not wish to repeat. All around him the trees had seemed to speak amongst themselves, the very wood inside them creaked and groaned to form the words of their speech. All the more unnerving had been the fact that Legolas had listened so closely to this it seemed that he had understood their conversations, or at least the essence of them. Gimli had only hoped that Legolas would not whisper of his friend's unease nor that he had an axe secured firmly at his belt to the ever watching trees. _Axes and trees do bode well_, had thought the Dwarf, eyeing the whole of the wood suspiciously. But he felt less ashamed of his malaise for Fangorn upon seeing Legolas' reactions to the Glittering Caves. The Elf's already pale skin had flushed of any color; he had seemed almost claustrophobic of the stone that surrounded him on all sides.

"My friends of the Forest Druadan, I am King Elessar of Gondor, to my right are Legolas the Elf of the Woodland Realm and Gimli the Dwarf, son of Glóin, we wish for your permission to enter. We intend no harm, only to pass through the wondrous trees of your realm, and perhaps, would you allow it, to exchange friendly word and tidings." There was a very soft rustling heard throughout the brushes that bedded the roots and earthen floor. These people were quick and silent of foot, but Legolas, having keen Elven ears, heard them still. Whispers in a tongue very unlike Westron or Sindarin could scarcely be heard for they were uttered so mutely; the voices spoke in a guttural manner that sounded peculiar, yet somehow very interesting. After much silence, a host of three, matching Aragorn's own, revealed themselves from the foliage. Gimli stifled back a gasp. Not since Haldir and his Elves in the fair Lothlórien, and perhaps a scant few times caused by Legolas' occasional mischief, for he had a tendency to drop at will from trees and high places, had the Dwarf been so taken by surprise. He had neither seen nor heard their coming. Legolas could not help but smile upon hearing Gimli's short intake of breath.

The man standing frontmost the other two had bushy, dark eyebrows that shadowed his deep-set black eyes and stared back at the two horses and their three riders with much curiosity. Their garb was of primitive make, though it blended uncannily with the surroundings.He had seen such beasts before, and he had seen also Aragorn before. King Elessar was regarded with respect amongst these people, for he had given the forest to them and ridded them of unwanted company.

"Welcome, King of Gondor, I am Bahârrod, my men are Carbbidhe and Fearnngost who speak only their native speech" said the man, at length, his voice deep and his Westron somewhat unsteady from inexperience. Few here spoke the common tongue, for it was deemed for the most part unnecessary and those who did had little use of it and learned Westron only roughly. It was not oft, if ever, that they had dealings with folk other then their own. The man bowed in a dignified manner and Aragorn, as well as Legolas and Gimli, quickly dismounted and returned the respectful gesture, as did the men behind the one who had spoken. "We know of you, King Elessar, and it would be unkind of us to forbid your entrance. You have gifted us with right to this forest."

"The gift was well deserved, Bahârrod of Druadan."

"We thank you. But what manner of folk be these who travel with you? An Elf and Dwarf? It is a strange company you travel with..." Bahârrod's words came to a slow stop as he studied the two standing behind Aragorn with curious eyes. A look of confusion spread across his face even as he thought, and he turned back to Aragorn, beckoning for him to move closer so his words would be heard by only the King. "Be the Elf male or female?" He whispered, raising his thick brow and trying to sound as polite as possible through his confounding. Legolas heard full well what had been asked, and he felt his eyebrow twitch in slight irritation. Many Elves had androgynous faces, and Legolas was one among them, but a question of that manner had never arisen. The Elf sighed, unable to be angry at the man, for Bahârrod had asked innocently enough, and had likely never seen many other than his own people. To Legolas' misfortune, Gimli's hearing for once did not fail him and he caught wind of the question. Despite his attempt to hold back a fit of laughter, Gimli could not. Legolas pursed his lips together tightly and if it was possible for an Elf to blush, he did so now. The very tips of his ears became a light pinkish and he shot Gimli a glare that would have left even the Witch-king of Angmar shivering. The Dwarf would speak of this until the end of his days.

"He is male, I assure you," chuckled Aragorn to the obviously embarrassed Bahârrod. "Do not fret, Legolas has taken no offense, I am sure." The king of Gondor could not help but laugh at the glower across the Mirkwood Prince's face. "But come! Will you let us pass through your woods? We promise we mean no harm to anyone, be they person, plant or animal. Legolas and Gimli are my most trusted friends, fret not. Our business here is not diplomacy, but naught more than a reprieve from the stone of Minas Tirith, though I would speak with your Chieftain of tidings of late. Perhaps we can bring helpful news? Or you can, likewise. We shall leave as swiftly as we have come, but Legolas had wished to learn more of your great knowledge of plant life and the like, so we have come to ask for your leave to enter." Bahârrod though a moment before answering.

"It is not my place. I will lead you to the Chieftain. I am sure he would converse with King Elessar, though we seldom converse with strangers to these woods."

"Thank you, Bahârrod," answered Aragorn. And at that, Bahârrod turned back into the wood and beckoned for his men as well as Aragorn and his company to follow him through the thicket of Greywood. The former Ranger nodded, and led Brego into the trees, twigs snapping beneath the mighty horse's hooves. The three Druedain walked nigh soundlessly, their shorter legs seemed to know every knot in every root of the path they took. Legolas followed, with Gimli still bubbling with laughter at his side. When the Dwarf was sure at last the Bahârrod and his men were out of earshot, the jests began.

"Well, fancy that! An elf-maiden in my presence and I knew aught of it!"

"Gimli... you would do well to keep your mouth firmly shut, or pull your helmet over your face if you cannot resist talk." At this the Dwarf only chortled. "Need I remind you, Master Dwarf, that you clung to me like Thorin Oakenshield to his jewels and treasures beneath the Misty Mountains throughout our ride? What would your folk in the Glittering Caves say to that?"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Well there's that! I really hope you liked it! I'll update as soon as I get back from camp in two weeks. I hope you'll stick with me until then!

I would also like to explain a bit more about the Druedain for they are truly very intriguing peoples and I will do my best to extend upon what I have already said with the best accuracy as I can, and to the best of my knowledge. Many of you probably already know this, but I'm merely including it, first of all, partially for my own sake, and secondly, for the sake of anyone who does not know. I know that up until recently, I was quite ignorant. Continue reading if you want to know more, while if you either already know or are uninterested, this is where my actual story stops until the next update. Enjoy.

The Druedain's nonphysical qualities seem to be very similar to the European idea of a 'noble savage,' for they are a somewhat mysterious people, regarded by some as 'Wild men' but, from what Tolkien has described, are completely good. In some ways, it could be said that they are actually superior to the other Edain, because they had a strange gift of foresight, and with this, left Numenor before the Downfall. Also, they were able to overcome the Orcs while their neighbors, the Haladin, were left somewhat helpless. The Rohirrim were also known to hunt down the Woses, for they considered them Wild Men. Ghân-Buri-Ghân turned down the rewards Thèoden offered for the promise that Rohan would no longer hunt them. And, though the Rohirrim are not evil, this is a further testament that none are perfect, nor 'all good.' Where there is great good, there may also be evil and where there is great evil there may also be good. In the Silmarillion, it says that the Edain went to Numenor, while some stayed behind. Numenor was a place created for them which was neither a part of Middle-earth nor a part of Valinor. Also, the Edain were rewarded by the Valar by having superiority to other humans of Middle-earth increased:

_To the Fathers of Men of the three faithful houses rich reward was also given. Eonwe came among them and taught them; and they were given wisdom and power and life more enduring than any others of mortal race have possessed. A land was made for the Edain to dwell in, neither part of Middle-earth nor of Valinor, for it was sundered from either by a wide sea; yet it was nearer to Valinor... _

_That as the beginning of that people... called the Dunedain: the Numenoreans, Kings among Men... they grew wise and glorious, and in all things more like to the Firstborn than any other of the kindreds of Men; and they were tall, taller than the tallest of the sons of Middle-Earth. _ - The Silmarillion

Moreover, Numenoreans are also descendants of the Edain. In truth, the Druedain that dwell in Druadan did not go to Numenor and were among those who stayed behind. Now, I must also explain more fully the Edain. They were the humans who 'qualified' as it seems, to be 'Elf-friends,' and 'Edain' is the collective term for them. They were also the Elves' essential allies throughout the war against Morgoth. The three kindreds, as said in the Silmarillion, were Beor's people, Marach's people and the Haladin. But, it seems that there was also a fourth group and they were called the Druedain.

Thank you so much for the reviews, everybody! My chapters will be longer when I return.

Bookworm,. 303: I'm glad you're reading! And thanks a bunch for the review. Aye, it is the calm. Trouble should be headed their way, hence the name of the story. Lol. And I really hope your computer can be fixed soon! I wish I could help, but alas, I know very little about computers. I can't wait for you to update.

Gismo: You're reading too! Yay. I know I would tire of being king quite quickly. I'd much rather be outdoors. Thanks so much!

Luinthien: Thank you!! I'm trying hard to write in character and in the way that those of Middle-earth did indeed speak. Tolkien was/is quite simply a mastermind and his writing truly is a gift. Alas that we can never know all he intended for Middle-earth.

Deana: Thanks a bunch.

Orliey: Thank you!!! Lol. Monty Python is wonderful.

Sun Kissed Rose: Thank you!!

All your reviews are really encouraging, and thanks once more. Until I return, cuio vae!

-Jamie (Lintu...)


	3. To Descry Old Rumors

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Lord of the Rings, or any of the characters within Lord of the Rings. They are all the work of the amazing Professor J.R.R. Tolkien!!!! (Heh, and we can't forget Peter Jackson and Newline Cinemas...) I'm not earning anything from this, except maybe amusement. Reviews are always appreciated and criticism is welcome as well. Onward to the story then....

Chirping birds and scurrying animals filled the lush green of the Druadan wood. The company of Man, Elf, Dwarf and Druedain walked almost luxuriously through the trees, Bahârrod leading the way and his two men positioned one nigh the middle of the Three Strangers, and one a few steps behind Legolas' heels, for the Elf was walking in the back. Their progress was not particularly fast, for the path they took was certainly not well traveled, and was more than overgrown. This gave the horses, being larger creatures, trouble, and so the company found themselves spending time maneuvering between trunk and sapling. In the distance the dim beats of a drum resounded; the Wild Men were sending word of these strangers to their realm.

Legolas, who had been considerably less content with Middle-earth upon hearing the white Gulls and glimpsing the allure of the sea, seemed quite enamored of the forest. His bright eyes glowed with mirth and danced in the beams of sunlight that punctuated the foliage. His footsteps were as light as ever, and left no trace of his presence in the earthen floor, save perchance the trees sang a sweeter song. He seemed never to lend his vision anywhere but to growing things. A spring that had been lost, or rather dampened, was back in his step.

Gimli trotted along in the middle, staring suspiciously about for he knew the tall Elf who strode hindmost him could work some magic, or though it seemed to him, with the trees. He held his axe readily, albeit cautiously. The Dwarf knew also that the Elves had awoken voices in the forests, and given its main inhabitants, the trees, speech. But he understood none of it and hoped also that the Elves had given them naught else. Naught else, that is, that might be used to crack the helm of a more than suspecting Dwarf. His gaze constantly flicked to Legolas, warning the Elf should he conspire with the wood. He aspired to express such a glower that would successfully send across his intended wrath. Legolas would smile warmly, yet give no hint as to the intentions of his conversation. And to this, Gimli would grunt gruffly and turn the other cheek, as though he cared not. Although it was obvious, he was somewhat distraught and more than a little nettled.

The Druedain guarding them were both slightly puzzled by this display of good-hearted rivalry, more so when Gimli's axe came to rest far too close to the brown trunk of a tree. Barely audible creeks and groans filled the air. The gnarly boughs overhead seemed almost to tense and reach with rough, stretching hands for the object of their discomfort. The air grew strained and the horses stamped their hooves. Gimli imagined the boughs as long arms, their palms balling into taut fists. It gave all a start, the Druedain included, for they had never seen seemingly inanimate objects move, and the woods, which they were so accustomed to, had never acted in such a way before. Legolas' lips turned suddenly upwards whilst he appeared to whisper to the disquieted woods. Gimli could only envisage what mockery the Elf was spouting of him to his audience, though the Dwarf was grateful to be yet intact. But with Legolas' soothing words, the angry rustling of leaves ceased and all was as it had been before.

Aragorn, though he was not as awed by the surroundings, was still scanning the area with interest. Yet his mind was contemplating, while his eyes watched. He knew already that the Druedain were gifted with stone crafts yet were also considered primitive by many who were ignorant to their ways. And perhaps they were primitive, when judged by the standards of other folk, but in many of their own ways they were wise. Their knowledge of herb lore was vast, and it was rumored even that, if taken from their surroundings, they could adjust quicker than any other being and tell a poisonous plant from an edible one at a glance. They also appeared to harbor no malice toward the Rohirrim, but were ever wary of strangers and preferred to deal only with their own. The Druedain, as Legolas had said, were Elf-friends, or had been in ages of old. Aragorn wondered if this allegiance still held, though the Elves, from his many years with them, had spoke naught of them. Legolas, even being of the Woodland Realm, seemed to know little more than he had spoken. And Aragorn knew no more than his friend, if any. Scant facts from times long past offered little knowledge of the peoples themselves.

There were many things in Arda that were yet mysteries to him, the Druedain one among them, and though it was an impossible task, this he knew, he still longed to unravel them before old age took him. Perhaps this excursion would aid him in this search for cognition. Maybe it could opt color to his so far monochrome kingship in the endless pale of Minas Tirith.

And this would be more than welcome. He loved his people greatly, but a life of black and white is not enjoyed by one who favors color, particularly former rangers. In many ways, King Elessar envied Legolas and Gimli, though he knew their lives were not without strain and responsibility. They were both able to do mostly as they pleased, or so it seemed. Both acted far more carefree, but perhaps they wore masks for the benefit of those around them? Who could say? Yet the more he thought, the more the masks began to reveal.

Mirkwood, though certainly healing, was still a perilous place. It harbored Dol Guldor, and behind its ominous stone, darkness both waxed and waned. Leaderless, much of its presence was fading, but not all. The fabled and feared spiders were ever being warded off, though the foul creatures' territory grew smaller with each passing year. To walk beneath Mirkwood's boughs unarmed was yet a very foolish thing, and those who did such rarely emerged alive, or at least unscathed. The realm of the Wood Elves was fair indeed, but their numbers were not so great that they could cover the entire expanse of the forest, and so only a portion of the wood was truly safe. And the Mirkwood prince as well as some of his kin had traveled to Ithilien, to lend their aid in its healing as well. The King wondered of King Thranduil's views on these actions. And Gimli's days, also, were not spent idly. His folk toiled away in the Glittering Caves. But Aragorn did know that the walls of Minas Tirith now retained him, and it was a duty that he could not turn away from. The former Ranger's servitude was due onto Gondor.

The company's attention was brought to the direction in which they traveled. Ahead could be heard, though muffled because of the expanse of trees between them, the sounds of a village. It was not incredibly loud, as one would expect after visiting many of Middle-earth's great cities, but rather blended with the symphony one would anticipate of nature. There was no constant rhythm of boots on stone, no cacophony of voices punctuating the air and there were certainly no lords or ladies in garish attire. In fact, as they approached, it appeared that the village was hidden amongst the sprawling roots and brush much as was wont of the elves, though it lacked the fluid grace that was present in most things of Elven craft. Indeed, the closer one peered, the more the subtle similarities, as well as more obvious differences, began to creep into visibility.

The trees began to thin and open into a clearing, where the village was situated. Trees were besprent here and there and the forest was very much incorporated in and around their homes. Crude houses had been built of wood, though it was clear that no trees had been felled for this purpose, with straw and mud roofs nestled along an outcrop of a cliff. If one were to look upwards to follow the rise of the cliff, they would lock eyes with an almost lifelike stone carving of a sentinel, or so it seemed. Aragorn was forced to examine the ashlar lookout twice, for upon his first glance he could have sworn its stone eyes flicked about as if scanning the area and everything within it. The King of Gondor did not doubt that more guards of this sort were positioned elsewhere in the Druadan, and most definitely around its borders. Their purpose was likely to ward off any who would otherwise stray into the trees, and they certainly served their purpose well. Not only did they look uncannily lifelike, but they seemed almost to _feel _lifelike as well. An aura seemed to surround them that perceived the very essence of the people it was meant to represent. These people certainly did have skill with stone.

As they emerged and came into sight of the inhabitants of this village, the air immediately tensed. All heads turned to the direction of the strangers, and a disquieted hush commenced. Legolas seemed to be attempting to look everywhere at once, and to Gimli's surprise, appeared to be managing this quite well. The Dwarf was eying the Druedain with a curiosity that was uncharacteristic of him. The few Druedain that were walking about outside their homes wore little more than a grass skirt for garb, though the women wore strips of cloth across their chests in addition to this, while the children appeared to go without vesture. They looked almost Dwarf-like, but had no beards. _No beards!_ He thought, _that is simply preposterous! _And with that he began to unconsciously stroke his own.

Legolas, who strode behind his stout companion with bright and inquiring orbs, was fascinated by these new peoples, for they were entirely alien to him, particularly after living such a sheltered life as Mirkwood offered. But his thoughts were first and foremost focused on the fear that the same mistake made by Bahârrod would be made again, and he prayed to the Valar that he would be spared such embarrassment. The entire incident, though he tried desperately to mask any embarrassment, had certainly chagrined him, however complementing the inquiry could be considered. And to make matters worse, Gimli would flash a taunting grin across his face as if to remind the Elf that he had not, and would not, forget the incident and was waiting, like a cat ready to pounce upon a mouse, for the perfect time to bring it to conversation once more. Legolas knew he would have to choose his words extremely carefully if he wished to avoid such an exchange of words.

Bahârrod, sensing the unease that had descended upon his kin, spoke words in his own language in explanation. The language was, indeed, entirely different from anything any of the three strangers had heard before and even Aragorn and Legolas could scarcely grasp the conversation aside from whatever hints tone of voice and body gestures would offer. Gimli was entirely at a loss. Communicating with anyone besides the chieftain and Bahârrod would pose a problem, but the three had faced worse situations than ignorance before. When Bahârrod returned, whispers that would have gone unnoticed by the untrained ear ignited and spread like a blazing fire from mouth to ear. Suspicious looks were shed here and there and the Druedain quickly changed their courses if the strangers came to walk too near where they were.

None could blame them. It was necessary to be suspicious in order to protect themselves, and neither man, Elf, nor Dwarf took any of this distrust as insulting. Legolas also watched their reactions to the horses. He was sure that many had seen them before, or at least heard some rumor of them, no doubt because of encounters with the Rohirrim, though the Elf was unsure of whether or not such meetings had been welcomed or wanted.

"What are your thoughts, my friend? Are you doubting your desire to pass through these trees?" Asked Aragorn quietly, pulling back so as to be closer to Legolas.

"Most certainly not. These people are wise, no matter what rumor has said of them and I would learn more of them, though I hope our presence does not arose too much discomfort. But did you see the stone carvings?"

"Aye, they remind me much of the Púkel-men on the road from Edoras to Dunharrow."

"Indeed... I do not doubt that the constructor of those statues and these are one and the same. But they also bring to mind a more menacing reference. Do you not remember the Two Watchers in the Tower of Cirith Ungol? Samwise spoke of them before... he said they seemed almost to glare and gave warning against any intruders. He was only able to pass them with aid from the Phial of Galadriel. The statues of the Druedain, though they are not evil, and also, from what I know, do not sound alarms, have a similar aura about them. I wonder if perchance Sauron imitated their skill for his own benefit? I know the Druedain would not have aided him purposely, for though they did not openly oppose him, they did hate as well as fear him."

"That is certainly troubling. Sharp are the eyes of these people, but that would mean that those allied with Sauron were able to spy upon their doings and study their craft unnoticed. "

"Do you think it possible that Orcs mightn't have been stationed somewhere nearby?" Asked Legolas curiously.

"It would be an ideal place to hide. This area, from what I've seen of it, has the necessary rock formations for caves. The cliffs are testaments enough to that," interrupted Gimli, feeling somewhat left out of the conversation and lacking anything better to do than enter it.

"Legolas, trouble seems almost drawn to you so let us hope that there are none that chose to linger," said Aragorn jokingly, though it was true enough. The two had faced more upset on any journeys taken together than leisure, and scarcely returned unscathed.

"Trouble is most often drawn to me when I am with you," replied Legolas with a grin.

"Hmph, I'd say trouble is drawn equally to the both of you, and that's that, _elleth_," added Gimli in a matter-of-factly tone of voice and a hint of a smirk.

"Where did you learn that word?" Questioned Legolas, his brow knitting together in a look of both annoyance and embarrassment. The tips of his pointed ears blushed a barely noticeable pink, though his eyes flashed as they latched onto the Dwarf.

"Why is it so hard to believe that a Dwarf is capable of picking up a few words of Sindarin? You speak it all the time, obviously unawares that I am listening. But, I learned it from Aragorn. Oh yes, and I have one more thing to say: _Dilui lhaw edhel ernilkil_."

Legolas flung both Dwarf and man a deathly glare and restrained himself from a harsh reply. With a sigh, an attempt to dissipate the slight he had just received, he forced a smile. Arod nudged the Elf in the shoulder as if attempting to lift his spirits. Legolas, happy to have at least one friend not partaking in mockery, gave an honest laugh and stroked Arod's soft white muzzle. "Well, then, Gimli, son of Glóin, I have something to say as well: _Thent tarlenc nogotheg." _

"Hmph." But before the Dwarf could mutter a response, Bahârrod announced that they had reached the hut of the Chieftain, Ghân-buri-Ghân. He bade them wait while he requested the Chieftain's attention and strode up to the entrance to the hut and poked his head in. Moments later, the cloth draped across the doorframe was drawn back and a stout Druedain stepped into the now fading sunlight. He looked very much like his kin, though his chin was stubbled with a moss-like beard dissimilar the others. His deep-set eyes scanned those before him, his wide face blank and emotionless. And then, a grin spread from cheek to cheek and a gurgling sound erupted from his throat. It was as if he was laughing. As it was said of the Woses, they had an uncanny ability to spread their laughter, even in the most dyer of situations. This rumor held true, for Aragorn soon found that the corners of his lips began to twinge upwards, as did Gimli. Legolas' bright eyes twinkled in the glowing colors of the sunset, and for a time, the unease about the village vanished.

"Gondor King, what be your business with my folk?" He said with time, his speech halted and uncouth, but the Common tongue all the same.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

Translations:

_Elleth. = Elf-maiden._

_Thent tarlenc nogotheg._ = _Short stiff-necked Dwarflet._

_Dilui lhaw edhel ernkil. = Pointy eared Elf princeling._

Ahem....I'm back!! And I'm praying to the Valar that you're still with me. I'm sooo sorry for the extended wait, but I'm back from camp and have finally gotten re-situated and readjusted to my normal schedule. Camp was quite possibly the most fun I've had since Disney Land when I was eight. Lol. Camp Mori no Ike is one of the few places where watching a man get dunked into a full garbage can is considered a typical daily event. I've also been using every spare second of both day and night to finish drawing the Manga (Japanese comic) that I'm currently working on. My goal is to get it published through Tokyopop in the upcoming Rising Stars of Manga Contest (though I don't know if I can compete with all the wonderful artists!), I have an ever encroaching deadline. But anyways, I'm back.... and updates will NOT be punctuated by such a LONG wait again, I assure you. I'll be getting to my other fanfic straightaway. Again, thank you sooo much for all the reviews. They are all GREATLY appreciated. And to any silent readers, thank you as well! I hope everyone is enjoying.

AilciA: Blushes... Thank you so much.... blush.

Bookworm,. 303: I wanted to make sure I got all the facts straight... and I'm still sweating over my lack of detailed information about the Druedain....in many ways, I feel like Aragorn. Sigh. I know their history and what not, but that offers little knowledge of the peoples themselves. Well, it'll be good for me, I suppose. I'll have to use my own imagination (and Tolkien's guidelines) to construct the missing pieces of the puzzle. Sigh. I dug around in the Unfinished Tales as well as the many dark depths of the internet. Tolkien's attention to every detail is truly amazing. Who would have thought that he'd take such a minor (though still important) race and take the time to go into even further detail about them? And camp was simply wonderful... I could have stayed there forever if only they had a computer and a library...ahem....with books in English and not just Japanese.

Gismo: Lol. I enjoyed writing it...and I'm extremely happy that you liked it. I'm also really relieved that you liked the extra info. I didn't know whether or not people would want it there. I miss my camp already, but it's nice to be back home. I've missed fanfiction (both reading and writing) dearly. I scarcely had a chance to get out a pen and paper to write down my ideas before I was rushed off to do something or other at camp. Thank you!

Sun Kissed Rose: Lol. Thank you.

Orliey: Thank you. Lol. I've been itching to write _something_ about his androgynous features, and I'm really happy you liked it. Psychology research? Wow....I hope I didn't distract you from your studies too much .

Saiyuki123: Thank you.

Well, that's that. At long last, another chapter. And now....I'm off to bed.....I haven't slept in two days now. If I were to stay up for approximately twenty-seven more hours I could be considered legally insane...now that's an interesting thought. Oooh.....but before I go, I MUST mention something! Whilst at camp, I was sitting and quietly eating my breakfast...the entire table seemed to be particularly quiet as well, and avoiding conversation that early in the morning suited me fine... (especially when that conversation would consist of aught but Japanese)...BUT when I looked up....I discovered that the boy sitting directly across from me bore an uncanny resemblance to none other than Orlando Bloom. He even wore sunglasses. Now, I'm not one to become obsessed with an actor, but I wasn't the only one who noticed his striking resemblance...for by noon that day... his new nickname had become Orli. That, along with Haruki-Sensei's inhuman ability to consume large quantities of Shrimp (Ebi) in one sitting and Wanito-Sensei and Shin-Sensei rolling around on a couple of mats inside the Tokyo-Dome fighting to the death with invisible Light Sabers (Alas, that my camera was in my backpack! Though I did manage to snag a picture of Wanito- Sensei in Pink PJ's for 'Pinku no Hi' (Pink Day)) simply made my day. Till next time! And perhaps I'll think of more camp stories to tell?

- Jamie (Lintu...)


	4. How UnElven

DISCLAIMER: The characters, names, and places within Lord of the Rings belong solely to Tolkien and Tolkien enterprises. Though I may fantasize of creating works as great as his, they do not in any way belong to me. My intent is enjoyment, not ownership.

Trouble Ever at Their Heels . . .

The sunset, its faint light waning slowly and languidly on the horizon, painted the Ered Nimrais a beautiful pink, with dark etchings about its ragged surface. It was as if a great many pastels had been loosed upon the stone canvas. And above, the stars were twinkling in their wake, like fireflies hidden in the grass at eventide. The moon was yet only a wraith of a scythe hanging in the sky. The forest life was calming, the birds concluding their daylong songs and the larger creatures of the woods heading to their homes for sleep. All were settling down for the night, all, that is, save the most famed inhabitants of the Grey Wood. Nestled deep within the woodland, shadowed by the great beacons Eilenach and Amon Din, there were still those who chose not to retire.

Ghân-buri-Ghân, in all his shortness, appeared a sizeable giant by his shadow, lengthened greatly in the quivering torches around him. The Druedain were not a tall peoples amongst the other beings of Arda, however, amongst themselves, they were quite tall. Their current Chieftain was one among those they regarded as tall, exceedingly tall. To his height there was also his grim countenance and dark mantle of matted hair that hung just above his shoulders, which gave him an air of unapproachability. And for all the intimidation his appearance thus might have caused, there were none amongst him who felt cowed. Indeed, the Chieftain of the Druedain was acting quite befitting of their rumors. He was laughing, and quite tremendously so. And in so holding true to the tales of the Woses, this laughter spread its self even as far as its possessor's own shade reached.

"We know you, King of Man. You are welcome here, for you have given peace. But we know not your company. Be they friends? Or _madubeboei." _He paused a moment and rubbed the moss-likestubble on the tip of his chin. It seemed as though he was searching for words. "How you say 'ungood folk'? Enemy._ Nhiya_, that word. Be your companions good or enemy?"

"Most certainly good, lord of the Grey Wood. They are my dear friends, unto whom I would entrust my life. We mean no harm. We ask for passage through your realm, if you will grant it, for only by your leave may we walk beneath the boughs of the Druadan," replied Aragorn, dropping down to one knee and inclining his head in respect. Legolas and Gimli followed quickly in his stead, Gimli somewhat awkwardly in his heavy chain mail. There was a moment of silence wherein none there gathered spoke. And then, as quickly as it had descended upon, it vanished and was thereby replaced with the low gurgling sound that rose in the Chieftain's throat. Any tension amongst Ghân-buri-Ghân's people was shattered, for they easily recognized this as laughter, and smiled upon its arrival.

"The King of Men needs not ask. You and your friends may stay." The Druedain slapped his thigh in mirth and dropped to one knee as well, returning the respect that had been given him. Aragorn was beginning to think that the little the Rohirrim had seen of these strange peoples hardly did them justice. The Druedain were far from primitive. Though their village was no great city, such as Minas Tirith, it seemed far more welcoming than the cold, white stone seen in Gondor's capital. And moreover, the former ranger could not blame the Chieftain for any suspicion detected. It was said that their dealings with Rohan prior to the War of the Ring had been none too pleasant. Because of the cruelty they had sometimes seen from the Horselords, they had grown wary. But even so, their leader still greeted King Elessar with mirth and open arms.

_"Bahârrod, arud nyma kysingojet. Hobe, roghdli_," said the Chieftain to his second in command upon rising. Bahârrod nodded and bowed both to his superordinate and to the King of Gondor before summoning a few Druedain that Aragorn soon recognized as the guards who had escorted them thus far. He and his followers thenwove through the crowd, as though the villagers were but underbrush in their way, and headed to the woods again.

Within moments they could be neither seen nor heard and even the keen ears of Legolas were hard pressed to track them before long. However, their inability to track the Druedain was not currently their problem. It was their inability to _understand_ them. The deep, guttural language of these peoples thwarted them now, for it was so far removed from any languages they had heard ere now that they knew not what was said. Aragorn had studied within the expansive libraries of Elrond and knew well many languages of Middle-earth. But never before had he heard anything of this sort.

Legolas was similarly puzzled. Although he had not mastered nearly as many tongues as his royal comrade, he knew his fair share of linguistics. When faced with a language foreign to him, it was generally possible to grasp the gist of the conversation, if nothing else, though tone, gestures, or common word roots. None of these appeared to be present. And so, he had moved onto his next tactic. Facial expression. Long years of life under the boughs of Mirkwood may not have aided in communication skills, however, they did avail him in discerning the expressions and emotions of otherwise stoic warriors. Nevertheless, for the first time in many years both Aragorn and Legolas were severely nonplused. Not only was this a foreign language, it was completely alien.

And if they were having troubles, poor Gimli's mind was flooded with confusion. Though in stature he may have been lacking, in intellect he was surely ample. He did not speak more than the Dwarvish language of Khuzdul, which few but the Dwarves themselves knew, and the Common tongue, though he wagered his Sindarin was coming along quite nicely (likewise Legolas would plausibly be one of the few elves ever to learn Khuzdul). But even had he known Quenya, Entish, Orcish and the Black Speech it would not have availed him. Like his Elven companion, he drew much from the eyes and expressions of another. Through much practice with his irksomely stoic confidant, he had strengthened his ability to read emotions that were otherwise locked away. In the case of the Chieftain, he could read nothing. All he saw were the deep-set black eyes of another staring back at him from beneath bush-like brows. Some thought the Druedain were unintelligent because they did not speak Westron, but to the Druedain now, the three strangers must have been seen as equally slow-witted.

"Please forgive. I forget you know not our tongue. But I know little of yours, also." He scratched his chin again. " Nwoi has had some converse with your folk. Among us he speaks wellest your tongue, so Iwill have him be your guide this night. Fast of mind is he, and though horse men could not hear him, them could he hear and learn from. Strange it is to be taught by one who has seen so few spring-comings." Old Ghân shook his head. "But I will do my best with what I know, to speak with you as best I can," apologized the Chieftain. "Nwoi!" He was addressing someone to his left, however, none standing there seemed to reply. And then from the cliff sides there was a rustling and something emerged. The something, or someone, rather, then slide nimbly down the rocky descent, running as though it were flat ground, and came quickly to his Chieftain. Shaking blades of grass from his hair, he stumbled to a stop. There was a look of seriousness spread across his face, but even so, there was a twinkle in his eye that betrayed a playfulness about him.

"_Nhiya, Lakmno_," said the newcomer in a huff as he executed a clumsy bow to his elder. For indeed, Ghân-buri-Ghân was his elder, by a great many years it seemed. This Druedain could not have seen more than thirteen winters and his youth was apparent in the very way he carried himself. His hair, unlike that of the older residents, was considerably shorter while far from well kept. It would seem almost that with age, so too did these peoples gain their stone-like qualities. The grass skirt around his waist was worn and old, but likewise it served all the better for his camouflage. And though he appeared to take whatever duty that was given him with a purposeful attitude, it was obvious that beneath his lips there lie a smile.

"Nwoi will guide the King of Men and friends of Men this night," he said to the boy. Nwoi nodded assiduously. "Good." Next he turned his dark eyes back to his guests. "The sun sets. Dark comes. Time for talk is not now. When light comes again, we speak of what needs be said?" asked the Wild Man of Aragorn, who in turn nodded his agreement. "Good." Ghân bowed deeply once again before vanishing as abruptly as he had arrived, behind the cloth flap of his central hut.

The villagers began to disperse, though the air of tension seemed to make a slow reappearance in the absence of their leader. Most seemed eager to reach the sanctity of their own huts and be done with the day's events. All, that is, save the young boy, Nwoi. He had eagerness, certainly, and it was plentiful. However, it was an eagerness of another sort. He was intrigued by these strange people, so different in voice and appearance than his own kin. Since the first time he had caught a fleeting glimpse (and a fleeting glimpse it had been, for he had been whisked away upon the detection of them) of those outside his isolated village, he had yearned to learn more of them. And this was a trait most unlike the Druedain. In some aspects, they were much like Hobbits themselves. Peace and quiet are two things they hold most dear, though the Halflings love of food is something that would be peculiar to them. Just as Bilbo was occasionally thought strange amongst those of the Shire, so too was Nwoi thought of by his kin. What business does a child have with the towering Horse Fathers of the Wold? But even though his mother scolded him profusely for wandering too near the borders of the Grey Wood, even if his father reprimanded him for aspiring to learn a language of outsiders, still he had persisted.

And at last, or so it seemed, he had been rewarded for his doggedness. Three outsiders had come to him! And he would be privileged further by their conversations! Much of his knowledge of their tongue had been acquired by way of stealth and observation, but now his skill could at last be utilized. He was determined to put his studies to good use. He would sooner let the _gorgûn_ take him than let it all go to waste. So many questions were there buzzing about in his racing mind he scarcely noticed their approach until they were gazing quizzically down upon him.

"Oh!" Nwoi gave a hasty bow. "Forgive my disrespect!" He knew he must be wary of these outsiders, however intriguing they might be. He knew not their temperaments, and the unknown is known to be both mysterious and spontaneous. The dark-haired one, presumably the King of Men himself, smiled and shook his head.

"What is there to forgive?" His deep, dark eyes scrutinized the boy and it was all Nwoi could do not to squirm under its weight. Their depth seemed unending as the night sky, and instead of seeing a window to the man's soul, all he could see in those dark orbs was his own reflection, gone a ghostly pale. Yet if the King's eyes were mirrors they were shards, and uncannily sharp. The dark-haired man, sensing this unease, withdrew his gaze. "I am told you speak the Common tongue?" He asked curiously. It intrigued him that one so young would have taken it upon himself to learn a language he would scarcely use. Nwoi nodded, trying to rid himself of the shivers that had just shot up his spine.

"Yes, I do." The boy grinned widely but hesitantly. Regardless, it was obvious that he was both proud and confident in his achievements. "I learned it all on my own," the King raised an eyebrow in silent praise, however, Nwoi took this as disapproval, "your highness." Though he was curious, he still harbored some fear for these big folk. He had heard terrible stories once, when he was much younger, of kin chased down by fearsome folk who ran on four legs. And these still haunted his thoughts now and again, for they would not be dispelled.

"Now that will not do, I would have you call me by my name and not my title." The man extended his hand, palm open. Now what could this be? Did the man have something to give him? Or mayhap he was pointing at something in the distance? Nwoi looked in the direction the hand was extended. A hut. Perchance he was tired and wished to take rest? That must be it . . . "Ah, I see." The man interrupted his thoughts. "I should know better. Time on a cold throne has benumbed my mind, it would seem." Someone standing behind the man gave a _hmph_ in agreement. "I am called Aragorn. And you are Nwoi, if my numbed mind yet has some sense in it. Hindmost me are my companions, Gimli, lord of the caves of Aglarond . . . "

A stout man stepped forward, nigh unto the height of Nwoi's own kin, save this being's face was covered with thick hair about the chin and mouth. This was peculiar indeed. Secretly, though he would not dare say it, this 'beard' as he had once heard it called, reminded him very much of the small, tangled bushes that grew so numerously on the forest floor. He was clad in strange garb, similar somewhat to that which the horseman donned. And in his mail-gloved hand there was a fearsome axe. He nodded his head in Nwoi's direction in respect and Nwoi returned the gesture doubly. This Gimli was strong. He could see it in his very stride.

"And to my left, Legolas of the Woodland Realm and lord of Ithilien." At this, another strange being stepped forth and gave a fluid bow.

Unlike this Gimli character, Legolas was tall and slender with shoulder length hair that shown golden in the waning sun, and a face fair beyond mortal measure. About this one there was an air not unlike that which Nwoi had sensed when in the arm-like boughs of an ancient oak. All the years gone by, coursing just beneath the timeworn bark, in its very being. Yes, there was something curious about this fellow, certainly. He was a fellow, right? He had been called 'lord,' so he must be. But how could one so young be a lord? A loud snort and the stomp of a hoof disturbed him from his thinking.

"You have forgotten someone in your haste, Aragorn," said Legolas in a melodious voice, eyes twinkling in the sunset, as one of the great four-legged creatures rubbed its muzzle into Nwoi's chest in greeting. "Arod and Brego say they are pleased to make your acquaintance."

Nwoi felt the soft flesh of Arod's nose brush against his own, and whatever fright he had felt toward these creatures fled on eagles' wings. He could hear the strange sound the air made as it left its nostrils, tickling his face. The creature's hot breath tousled his hair as though in the wind, and the feel of the warmth against his skin was comforting. Arod seemed nothing like the 'fearsome four-legged beasts' he had heard so much of in rumor. Great maybe, but fearsome certainly not.

"I see no reason to be awed by a horse. As we Dwarves say, one finds his own legs sturdier than those of another," grumbled Gimli, planting the butt of his axe firmly in the ground as if to further emphasize his point.

"Sturdy your legs may be, but swift is another story," said Legolas loftily as he watched Nwoi timidly stroke Arod's neck. Years ago, perhaps, Gimli might have sputtered at this. However, these years had availed him in many ways, one such being in the quickness of his tongue. One of these days, he would outwit his feather-headed companion, he assured himself. _Elves_, he was known to remark, _revered as the wisest in all of Middle-earth, yet with heads the consistency of thistledown. _

"It is not always swiftness that is most eminent, but rather endurance, which serves better in the long run," argued the Dwarf, determined to best the other. Besides, he still saw very little sense in just how much trust was placed in these horses, even if he himself had come to trust Arod.

"And a very long run it would have been, Master Dwarf, had you chosen your own two legs over four swifter ones," replied Legolas with a tug at the corners of his lips. Nwoi wondered at these two. Already they were an odd spectacle to behold; arguing over something so trivial as the length of one's legs in comparison to speed was folly. What use did such knowledge do for a person? Yet here they were, pursuing their folly-full debate and in all likelihood would have continued to do so were it not for the combined efforts of both Aragorn and Arod. "Please excuse my stunted companion, he is quick of temper but not so quick of wit, or foot, for that matter," said Legolas to Nwoi in a whisper made just loud enough for all nearby to hear. Nwoi could not quite hold back a grin. Strange though their argument may be, it was also amusing.

Arod, being the wise horse he was and also having just as much experience as Aragorn in such matters, took it upon himself to cause a distraction. And did just that by butting Legolas playfully in the chest with his forehead until the Elf could no longer listen to whatever response Gimli might have come up with but instead had to focus all, or at least a good deal, of his concentration on evading a horse in the face. The horse demanded his rider's attention. In moments, Legolas was all but ignoring the grumbling Dwarf at his side, though if Aragorn had any say in the matter, he wagered this was an act on the Elf's part. And it was certainly working, for Gimli looked on the verge of sputtering. However, at the very least, Gondor's king knew their quarrels were all quite harmless; they had become almost a means for the two to communicate. Aragorn cleared his throat as a sign that perhaps they might consider resuming their gainsay at a later date. Luckily, they listened. Nwoi also recognized the dropped hint and cleared his own throat.

"The sun is all but set, Lord Aragorn. Would you like me to show you a place whereat you might sleep in comfort?" Asked Nwoi hesitantly, though in secret, he was quite proud of the long sentence he had successfully strung together.

"Please do not inconvenience yourself on our parts. Think of us as mere travelers and nothing more. Truthfully, though doubtless it is unnecessary to do so in the Grey Wood for it is so well guarded, I would rather that none distinguished me for whence I came. I would that rumor of my absence in Minas Tirith went unheard." Indeed, Aragorn had hoped none here, or anywhere, for that matter, would recognize him for who he was. In farther, or less observant, lands, perchance that wish might have been granted. However, among the Druedain it was not so. Like old Ghan had said, _"though horse men could not hear him, them could he hear and learn from."_ And when these woods had been given onto their inhabitants, none had emerged from the trees but rather, all that could be heard were the drums on the wind. _Dom, dom, dom_ . . . fading into the depths, like the heartbeat of the forest. No doubt they had seen each and every face present that day, and had not forgotten. Their memories spanned as long as the lives of stone.

"But mere travelers would not be permitted to travel beneath our boughs, lord." Nwoi pointed out. "You are the first to do so with our good graces." Aragorn sighed, though he fully understood what was said, he still wished that he could travel as a Ranger once more. Which was certainly not to say he was not thankful for all he had in life, but still . . . However difficult those cold and arduous years had been, he still longed for their solitude and simplicity. In some ways, his royal life now seemed more grueling even than his long search for the creature Gollum. As a Ranger, there were no treaties to be made, no trade routes to redefine, no counselors, lords, ladies or advisors. It was the wild. Some said a crown suited him, but to Aragorn, it felt most like a heavy burden, weighing him down from its place atop his head. And one day, he imagined, it would overcome him and topple to the ground.

"I for one have had quite enough of jostling about on the back of a horse for one day, thank you, and I should be more than content to see a good night's rest. If this boy wishes to lead us to that rest then I say, why not follow?" proclaimed Gimli in his deep tenor. And he had seen enough of this horse riding business, enough to last him many lifetimes. When Nwoi began to walk in the direction of a large grass hut, Gimli came quickly after, and the other two could do nothing but follow. It was that, or remain in the village center all through the night, pondering just what else could be done about the matter.

Aragorn and Legolas inquired as to where their mounts might spend the night, and as for that, Nwoi had no answer. There were no huts to accommodate their size, but after a moment of deliberation, Nwoi pointed out a section of trees hindmost the hut they neared that would serve as ample shelter. And to add some comfort he brought over a few clay pots filled with water that sloshed about as he walked for they were almost his own weight. He would not accept any help in this, though, and it seemed he was just as prideful as anyone else. Lastly, he scattered some straw-like bedding and the horses were tethered loosely to a tree and given some room to wander, for their riders trusted them, however both were known to search for the greenest grass and it always seemed to lead them farther than intended.

The hut, despite the stereotypes about the Druedain peoples, was quite a thing to behold. Its structure was made up of intricately woven saplings and a woven grass rooftop, with bark used to reflect the rain off its sides. There was scarcely a space between the young felled trees, but where there were, only the most scrutinizing eye could tell for they were snugly patched with mud and dried grass.

As they entered, pushing the cloth doorway aside, the engineering behind its structure became all the more evident. One might think, from the looks of it, that it would not be nearly warm enough to last through cold weather. And they would be quite wrong. Instead of just one layer of saplings, there were three, and between each there was mud and grass insulation. The floor was made similar to the walls, save with but one layer, and one that seemed replaceable. Near the center, there was a pit lined with stones, and more still that were piled atop each other to form what looked almost like an oven. Up above, there was a hole through which the stars could be seen, though its true purpose was to allow the smoke to escape. A small fire was burning dimly within the oven, its red embers heating the whole of the hut perfectly, and the smoke wafted upwards in a thin stream, out into the night. And the smell of it all was quite inviting, the scents of firewood andplantlife mixing to create the semblance of the nature that surrounded without.

There was but one problem, and this being the size in comparison to Aragorn and Legolas, for Gimli as a Dwarf had few qualms with the low roof. It was wide enough for both Elf and Man to lay toe-to-toe without having any lack of space, however, neither could stand upright without the risk of receiving a knock to the head. Nevertheless, the two resolved that they would be spending little time indoors anyways.

Nwoi quickly disappeared behind the cloth door and reappeared carrying an armful of firewood to be used during the night if the fire waned. "I bid you all goodnight. I will return when the sun rises. Sleep well." The company of three each thanked the boy in turn, for he had shown abundant hospitality and kindness. His bare feet patted almost soundlessly against the dirt ground as he walked away to wherever his own hut was.

"Why sit doing naught when we could rest?" Yawned Gimli as he made himself comfortable on the floor that apparently doubled as a bed. Legolas sighed and spread out his cloak in one of the corners, propping himself, cross-legged, against a wall in a place whereat he could easily see the stars.

"Verily this structure is quite a marvel. See there? The saplings are woven as though they are threads of a cloth. What an interesting peoples these Druedain are." Legolas pointed out, pulling his hair out from behind his shoulder so it would not become pinned there. "Perhaps we can learn from them yet,"he said with a smile on his lips. For as old as Legolas was, Aragorn swore at times like these that he spoke with the youthful wisdom of a child. Indeed, it was difficult for the former Ranger to keep a straight face whenever Legolas applied this term to Aragorn, for indeed, although he was mortal, he considered himself to act the elder of the two. And for Aragorn not to keep a straight face when he intended to do so was almost unheard of.

Aragorn had heard once, from Lord Elrond and Gandalf both, of some of their many reasons for choosing the company they did. He now fully understood why, even when far older, wiser and more experienced Elves were willing to set out as one of the Fellowship, Legolas was chosen. When compared to many of his kin, Legolas was, in truth, quite young and it was this youth, Aragorn surmised, that had resulted in an unheard of friendship with a Dwarf. The more years that evanesced into history around them, the more set in their way they became. In youth, one is moreaccepting.Like a stone, with each passing age growing in size until it can no longer be moved. He found that to be the best way to describe it.

"One can even see the night sky," he heard Legolas say, though he was still deep in his own thoughts. _Speaking of that friendship with a Dwarf . . . _

"Truly, Elves think of naught but the stars and the trees," said Gimli as a means to fill the silence that was beginning to encroach. Aragorn could hardly stifle a groan as he too propped himself against a wall. He was a very patient man, however, everyone has a limit, and after a day of riding to the tune of their quarrel, his patience was drawing to a close. Obviously Gimli was less interested in filling the silence and more in picking up where he had left off in their argument.

Legolas raised a fine eyebrow from his place across the room, his eyes bright in the firelight. "Oh? Is it even so?"

"Yes, it is so. And it is foolish. The stars, as all sensible folk know, are unreachable and frankly unworthy of such endearment. They are but lights in the sky. And the trees! Bah."

"Have you run short of words, Master Dwarf? I knew your vocabulary was limited, but never did I realize the extent of your incapacitation." Legolas began to hone one of the knives he carried with him, and purely out of habit, for rarely does an Elvish wrought blade go dull.

"My incapacitation!? Nay, it is the very thought of your ill-placed passions that causes my bafflement." For years now, this argument had been repeated. And always it began and ended in a similar way, which any who have spent a good deal of time with the two could predict.

"My ill-placed passions, as you call them, are far better placed than your own. I fear I shall never understand your foolish love of stone and gold," said Legolas calmly as the whetstone made a familiar and invariable_ -sheek_- as it skated across the steel that flickered in the firelight like ice.

"That is because you are too featherbrained to comprehend," Gimli retorted, at last removing the trusted helmet which traveled with him wherever he went.

"Featherbrained, am I? Perhaps it is you, son of Gloín, who is too feebleminded to comprehend the complexity of the Elves?" Legolas' hand glided unchangingly, _- sheek, sheek, sheek . . . -_

"Nay, Legolas, it is your own inability to see the sensibility of the Dwarves that causes you to act the contrary."

"Wisely," said Legolas nonchalantly, putting down the whetstone and guiding a fingertip carefully down the blade. The Prince of Mirkwood had ever been the victor of these word games, and could just as easily twist what was said into something to better suit his argument as he could string a bow. There was an uncanny ability about him that enabled him to pick and choose through each and every word in a very short expanse of time. Once the choice word was found, utilizing it was child's play. Aragorn had learned also that Legolas resorted to such tactics when he wished not discuss something further.

Gimli, however, had never experienced such things ere the counsel of Elrond, and thus had been taken completely unawares at his first encounter. But time was a stern teacher and from it the Dwarf learned quickly. Soon, Aragorn imagined, a day might come when a certain Prince would find himself on the losing side of the argument.

"Let us end this. Gimli, was it not you who said we should use this time for repose?" said Aragorn, peering over at the two with one eye open, like a cat resting one eye while ever watchful with the other.

"Indeed, it was he. But thus is the peculiarity of a Dwarf, saying one thing and doing another," Legolas said matter-of-factly, as he sheathed his knife and crossed his arms across his chest, making himself comfortable even if it was unlikely he would stay in one place for very long.

Gimli, with a last grumble of annoyance directed in Legolas' general area, turned onto his side with a huff. Legolas grinned and to Aragorn's extreme thankfulness, peace commenced. As for a watch, Legolas and Aragorn agreed to switch off, simply for the sake of reassurance. The borders were well guarded, they knew, however, both knew it generally never hurt to be cautious.

The morning came swiftly, and Aragorn woke even before the first rays of sunlight colored the sky, as always. The birds were chirping, the leaves rustling in the trees and the fire smoldering in its ashes. However, there was something out of place in the picture he awoke to. There was Gimli, quite deep in a sleep in his corner, yet there was something, or rather someone, missing Glancing about, he realized just what the trouble was. A cloak was folded neatly where an Elf had once sat, but where had Legolas run off to? Listening closely to his surroundings, the skilled former Ranger soon discerned another sound without the walls of the hut. The patter of feet in the dirt and the unmistakable laughter of children began to flood his hearing. This was a far cry from the dead silence the village had been filled with upon their arrival. Something strange was at work. Fastening his cloak about his shoulders, King Elessar pulled back the cloth doorway and came upon a strange and quite unexpected sight.

There were children, as he had guessed, and their guide, Nwoi as well. As he scrutinized them further, he realized almost all were either Nwoi's age or very close to it. They were playing a game that he had seen children in the streets of Minas Tirith play, though doubtless this version was unique, with a cloth tied together tightly to form a ball which they were attempting to keep from hitting the ground without the use of arms. Tied to a limb of an outcropping tree there was a woven hoop of sorts, which Aragorn concluded the ball was passed through. A very small crowd of spectators was gathered around them. But this was not what surprised him. Children he had expected, and perhaps Nwoi too, however, he had not expected to see a tall, slender, and somewhat distracted Elf among them.

Nor had Legolas, really. When he had first stepped out into the dimly lit world, he had no intention of becoming swept up in anything of this sort. In truth, he had merely thought to tend to the horses, who he knew must have grown restless during the long hours of the night just as he himself had. Soon after reaching them, combing through their wind-tossed manes with his fingers and singing softly to himself, he had heard the soft patter of feet coming his way. Sure enough, it had been Nwoi, arriving just he said he would, and even somewhat early.

Both greeted each other warmly, but even behind all the curiosity bubbling over from the boy, there was still a solute of discomfort about him. Nwoi had quietly positioned himself nearby and observed the Elf from his seat there in complete silence. Legolas resumed his tune, beginning to groom Arod's flank with a brush from his saddlebag. And he would have all but forgotten about the boy had Nwoi's curiosity not gotten the better of him. It had intrigued the Druedain, and profusely, that there was yet another language other than the two he had already mastered. Hearing it for the first time, and in Legolas' soft and lilting melody had not failed to spark wonder in a mind like fire, demanding more knowledge to fuel its flame. Thus he could not help but voice the many questions that began to fill his thoughts. What was this strange speech? Could he learn that song? What did the song mean? Where had it come from? Wherehad Legolas come from? At first he had been hesitant to ask, however this tall being seemed more than willing to discuss each topic, and soon the questions came spewing from his mouth.

Not long after their conversation began, it was cut short. Withal, though, Nwoi had gained more information in their short discussion than he had in many far longer ones yet each question answered had given rise to twice as many. By the end he had learned much, and wondered at more. The other was still a mystery to him. The reason behind the end in their talk was actually the arrival of others. The Druedain were obviously early risers, but then again, they slept the moment the sun disappeared on the horizon. A group of youths, in fact, came, most of which being around Nwoi's age. They had stopped in their tracks upon seeing the company their friend was in. And who would not act so? Two large and strange beasts and an equally strange traveler from lands none there had even known existed.

Fortunately, Nwoi had been kind enough to approach them and even introduce them to his own newly acquired acquaintance. Although they were still obviously uncomfortable, their reason for being where they were was thereby revealed. There was a hoop, apparently, hung from a nearby tree which was used for the game they wished to play. Legolas had seen no reason for them to leave merely because he would have to move the horses, and Nwoi had translated to themfor him that they were free to do as they wished and they need not fear Legolas nor the four-legged creatures. To demonstrate his point, Legolas had asked Nwoi to approach Arod and thus proved that these specific mounts were quite unworthy of fright, they were friendly when treated properly.

Even with their malaise about it all, Nwoi seemed convincing, and this Legolas, as Nwoi said he was called, seemed kind enough. So they had proceeded. The objective of the game was to hit a cloth ball through the above hoop. The tricky part was to do so without using hands or arms. But as Legolas watched them from the sidelines, needless to say he was impressed. Perhaps the skill of hitting a ball through a hoop thus would be of little practical use, but still, it was an impressive feat, nonetheless. And as chance would have it, Nwoi insisted Legolas was to participate, seeing as he had been thoughtful enough to move the horses. Besides, Nwoi had felt guilty somewhat of abandoning his task for the moment. At first, the Prince of Mirkwood was reluctant, and with good reason. He would much rather observe than participate. However, when Nwoi announced that he could not play unless Legolas played, the prince grudgingly obliged. The rules were revised slightly to accommodate Legolas' height. Legolas himself suggested that he should not be allowed the use of both his arms and legs. At this he had received quite a few odd looks, for that would certainly be a great challenge, especially for one who has never before engaged in such sport. But Legolas deemed it fair, and all others eventually shrugged it off and wondered just how this stranger would manage. So it began.

By the time Aragorn had discovered his companion's whereabouts, the game had gone on for some time. All there participating, and there were a great many more now than there had been to begin with, were quite engrossed with what they were doing and little else. It seemed that this game was not merely child's play, but also enjoyed by the grown population of the village. To see an Elf, though, running hither thither with a group of laughing, smiling children and hitting about a ball without using hands or feet, arms or legs was quite the spectacle. Though doubtless all gathered there were enjoying themselves immensely, for despite the revisions to the rules made because of the Elf's height, he was still besting a great many of them.

Legolas had not yet noticed the former Ranger, standing nearby and watching with a ghost of a smile that threatened to materialize across his lips any moment. But when at last Aragorn did call out the Elf's name, it was certainly one of the more memorable moments of their friendship. Hearing his name, he had turned immediately to its source, taking his eyes from the game. Realizing this fatal mistake almost seconds before it would have been too late, Legolas dove for the ball that was speedily making its way toward the ground. There was a cloud of dust and then the ball was flung with great accuracy off the Elf's chest and through the hoop to be caught by the King of Gondor.

"Is this how Elves spend their mornings? Much has changed since my childhood in Imladris, then. That, or those of Mirkwood have claim to the strangest customs e'er I have seen," said Aragorn, raising an eyebrow as the dust cleared away to reveal a hardly recognizable prince. Aragorn wondered at what Thranduil might have to say about seeing his son in such a state, lying on the ground and covered from fair head to foot in a layer of dirt. "This is a side of you I have never seen ere now, my friend. Who would imagine that the Prince of Mirkwood bathed in dirt?"

"At least I bathe at all," said Legolas, coughing somewhat as he stood and brushed himself off, "rather, you prefer to wait until it rains. And there was once a time when if it did not rain at all, you would go without." The Elf shook his hair and Aragorn noted that it turned noticeably lighter. But Legolas had ever been one able to laugh at himself, and it was plain to see that he was grinning.

"However, at present, I should say that you are in more need of a bath than I, my friend," laughed Aragorn as he watched Legolas shake his tunic somewhat. For a moment, he looked as though he were mimicking a horse who had just finished a good roll.

"Perhaps," replied Legolas with a frown as he fingered a small tear in his sleeve. Whatever his response may have been, it went unheard, for at that moment, three things happened quite simultaneously. Firstly, Gimli emerged from the hut, fully armored and ready to battle whatever enemies had besieged the village during the night. He had awoken to hear shouts and did not, in his dazed state, manage to distinguish between the shouts of enjoyment and the shouts that might be heard in a skirmish. So, little did he know that the Orcs he imagined were naught but the villagers' reaction to Legolas' latest trick. Secondly, Nwoi managed to appear in front of Aragorn and began to apologize profusely for so urging Legolas to participate. He had not known that nothing could have brightened the King's day more than to see an Elf acting so unaccountably un-elven. Thirdly, and by far most alarming, was Baharrod's sudden emergence from the woods, all of which was anything but soundless.

Aragorn was attempting to convince Nwoi that there had been no offense committed while Legolas was likewise informing Gimli of the Dwarf's err and receiving a very confused look in response. Gimli, of course, had figured out that there was no danger, and felt somewhat embarrassed bothat his mistake and his late rising, however, he could not help but wonder why his comrade was dressed in dirt and what the Druedain second-in-command was doing running so hastily to the Chieftain's hut, shouting '_arud nymí Ezulu_,' whatever that meant. Meanwhile, the villagers did not know what to do. Some seemed happy, for they knew what Baharrod had said and apparently it was a good thing, while others were still trying to decipher exactly why there was a bearded being wielding an axe. In the end, the outcome was inevitable.

"_Maa!_" Ghan-buri-Ghan's deep tenor burst forth from his hut, stopping Bahârrod in his tracks and silencing all there gathered. He was not angry. However, his tone demanded order. And that is what he received. Had a cricket four leagues away chosen that moment to chirp, all there would have heard. The Chieftain sighed and turned to his second-in-command for explanation. Bahhârrod nodded and began.

"_Arud nymi Ezulu, Lakmno_."

"Hn," he rubbed his chin in thought.

"Translation?" asked Gimli, turning to Nwoi, who had at last ceased in apologizing to Aragorn and Legolas. Gimli had very little patience for being left in the dark, and presently, everything was black. Much too much was going on that he did not understand, and he felt that an explanation was eminent, if not forthcoming.

"Ezulu has returned." Nwoi's expression was one spread between excitement, wonder, and slight confusion. He shook his head and looked back at Gimli, his eyes wide. Gimli was about to ask why this should cause such a commotion when Nwoi answered the unspoken question. "Ezulu disappeared almost a year ago."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Well, there you have it! I have FINALLY updated. I really hope you enjoyed.

Translations:

_Baharrod, arud nyma kysingojet. Hobe, roghdli_. - Baharrod, return to your post. Go (somewhat politely)

_Nhiya, Lakmno _Yes, Chief.

_Arud nymí Ezulu _Ezulu has returned.

_Maa!_ Enough!

_Gorgûn_ Orc(s) (this is one of the few words of this language found in the books. Ghân-buri-Ghân uses it to describe the force that would block the Rohirrim's way if they did not go through the Stonewain, and at a few other points in his dialogue.)

The Druedain language, from Tolkien's descriptions, came from deep in the throat and was far removed from any other languages of the time. It did not sound like Sindarin or Westron, and had few (if any!) roots in any sort of Elvish. With that in mind, I tried to combine some languages that might sound appropriate. What has been written thus far is a combination of a few African tribe languages (because, unlike English, which is more nasal, many African languages use the throat and not the nose) Swahili, and old Norse and Germanic. This is the first time I have attempted something like this, and so, I hope it worked. As far as pronunciation goes, I recommend that it be kept in mind that none of these words use the nose, but rather the throat. I may go back and make changes, but I'm hoping also to develop this a bit more, later on. If you have any questions, suggestions, recommendations, comments, or complaints on the subject, please don't hesitate to express them. I'd like to know what you think of it all, so please, do tell! On to reviews, all of which are so greatly appreciated!! They can lift my spirits from the darkest of moods.

_Ryuujin dragon king_: Thanks so much for the review. I know, I know, I've taken FAR too long in updating. And for this, you have my honest apologies. Rest assured, I'm being scolded this very moment by both my sister and good friend, Nominwen.

_Nominwen_: Confusing Pippin with Mary Poppins, my, that's certainly one for the storybooks! I'm glad you found my writing! I always look forward to your input. Thankies, Nominwen!

_Bookworm, .303_: Thank goodness your computer's fixed! I don't know what I'd do if mine broke down for a long period of time. Again, I beg your forgiveness for this long wait and hope you're still with me. Ah, yes . . . the locals. We have not yet come to the 'trouble' but I assure you, it's on its way. Thanks so much for your review! (Oh! And I hope you don't mind me mentioning, but you've got a new story! Sorry I haven't reviewed yet, I have, however, been lurking in the shadows. Great writing. )

_AliciA_: Thank you, thank you, thank you, is all I can say. Such a kind review /blushes/ I do hope I don't disappoint you. And by the way, your own writing is marvelous! I love your latest story (although they're all equally wonderful).

_Gismo_: I always look forward to your responses, and I'm overjoyed to know you're liking the story thus far. I hope you had fun on vacation! The summer seems a distant memory now that school has started. Lol. Oh well. I hope you like this update, however long in coming it was and thanks so much for the review and kind words.

_Orliey_: Nay, I have not forsaken you, but rather, school has dragged me away. But I've come back, I hope. I'm really glad you're liking the story and hope you continue to enjoy. Thank you!

P.S. Any spelling/grammatical errors in the Druedain speech is intended. Very few have any experience with the Common Tongue. With the exception of the Chieftain, Baharrod, and Nwoi, other villagers know a few phrases if anything. Keep in mind, this is only because they have had little if any exposure to other peoples.

P.P.S. I simply wish to mention that, although I am a huge fan of the LotR movies, I am trying to base my descriptions on Tolkien's descriptions of the characters, rather than the actors' portrayals of them (however good a job the actors may have done.) Tolkien himself calls Legolas "fair beyond the measure of men."

One last parting note (and I do believe I've become much like Gandalf in my writing, now!) About Brego. I realize that this is inaccurate (and I've known for sometime now) and eventually I will correct this flaw. It's been irking me for quite a long time and I would appreciate it if you might turn the other cheek whenever you see this flaw. Or perhaps let us assume for now that Brego simply came along for the ride, yes? Or perhaps Aragorn has named his horse after the actual Brego? Please? It will be righted. However, seeing as, in order to change Aragorn's horse _now_, I would also have to edit previous chapters . . . and I'm either too lazy or have not the time (your pick) to do so at present. Thanks so much for all the reviews! I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Till next time!

- (The ever procrastinating . . . ) Lintu . . .


	5. Confusion Begets Foreboding

DISCLAIMER: I do not own nor claim to own any of the names, characters, places of or pertaining to Lord of the Rings. They are all sole property of the great J.R.R. Tolkien, whom I hold in the utmost of respect.

Trouble Ever at Their Heels . . .

The sun was now high in the sky, shining brightly down upon the woven rooftops of the Druedain huts. Light shown upon the dew sprinkled blades of grass, making them twinkle like innumerable stars scattered across a green sky. The birds had awakened and chirped quietly from their lofty perches. A slight chill yet clung to the air like dampness to cloth and all appeared calm. However, this was certainly not the case beneath the boughs of the Druadan this morning. A rumor was spreading amongst the trees, one of confusion and wonder and it was carried on the breeze. Someone had crossed their borders and their presence sent shivers from their roots sown beneath the earth to their reaching web of arms above. Their leaves rustled in anxiousness. As bright as the sun was, it was hesitant to penetrate the depth of the forest, for something there made it wary. Drums, beating like the heart of the wild, rose from its depth. And the woodland drew into itself.

Confounding had broken free of its reins and in its felicity, had galloped all throughout the village trampling order in its wake. Despite the Chieftain's attempts to quiet his people, they continued to speak in whispers amongst themselves, seeing if the person standing next to them knew more about what was going on then they did. Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli's eyes were locked on Nwoi and it seemed that they had not been spared the confusion.

"Ezulu has returned," the boy repeated to himself in a tone that floated on his breath. He shook his head, his dark eyes wide like the full moon and mouth pursed in rumination

"And who is Ezulu?" asked Aragorn after a moment's silence. The king of Gondor did not favor ignorance, and at the moment, he felt as though it consumed him. Nwoi looked up, apparently startled by the sudden question. He had forgotten that there were still others watching him.

"He was a warrior of some status . . . a few years aftermost the great war was ended, gorgûn had emerged from the mountains. We had thought none yet remained. We were wrong. A small portion of them had hidden in the mountain caves and we had not perceived them. I know very little about it, but we lost many of our people when they came. Yet we defeated them in the end, thanks in part to Ezulu. He lead the attacks and won much merit for his bravery. However," Nwoi's voice faded as he recalled the events. "However . . . he insisted that the mountains should be searched. And so they were. He took it upon himself to do so. He called it his duty. We waited many weeks and still heard nothing from him. When we could wait no longer, a search party was sent but to no avail. They found no gorgûn nor did they find any trace Ezulu. We waited for months and when he still did not return we grieved his loss and assumed him to be dead. Why he should return now is beyond me . . . "

"What are these gorgûn?" asked Gimli in his gruff voice, hooking his axe unto his belt. Nwoi turned to the Dwarf once more.

"Orcs." The word tasted like poisonroot in his mouth and he spat it from his lips. But his thoughts did not have time to linger on the subject for long, otherwise he would have said a great deal more about those hated creatures. At that moment, Bahârrod's troop emerged from the trees, and at its forefront there walked Ezulu. Silence, sparked by his arrival, spread like a wildfire on grassland that no longer remembered the taste of water.

The three travelers watched him closely as he walked, with a slight limp in his step that offset the march of Bahârrod's troop. His long hair was uncannily dark and lay in disarray across his shoulders and over his broad brow. His eyes were deep-set and beady, flitting here and there as if trying to return the gaze of each and every person there at one time. He held his chin high.

The more Nwoi scrutinized him, the stranger he became. For some reason, Ezulu did not look like he had ere his disappearance. Almost, though it seemed illogical, it looked as though this he had aged far more years than had passed. And what was more, he seemed threatening. Certainly the warrior that had left in search of gorgûn? Ezulu had been fearsome, but neither had he been unkind. Ezulu's very gaze made goose bumps rise on the young boys skin. And as the distance between them lessened, a chill shot up his spine. Seeing someone he had taken for dead suddenly walking toward him was frightful enough, but that was not what caused him to blanch.

"You look as though you've seen a ghost, boy," said Ezulu in a breath, leaning in to whisper in his ear as he passed, so quietly Nwoi strained to hear it. The boy's eyes widened and the warrior laughed loudly and continued to walk. Ezulu's black eyes drifted quickly over those standing around the boy and regarded them coldly before moving on. Legolas stiffened beside Nwoi and for some reason felt the urge to throw himself between the boy and this stranger. Ezulu had spoken friendly enough, but even so . . . Something was not quite right here, and his senses had been set on alarm. '_There is danger here_', they seemed to say.

"What do you perceive?" Aragorn asked in such a low voice that only an Elf could hear.

"It is nothing," breathed Legolas, though he did not take his eyes from Ezulu.

Aragorn had seen Legolas' reaction. It was disconcerting, as he had watched the Elf narrow his eyes ever so slightly as if, in secret, his hackles were raised. Truth be told, Aragorn did not sense a friendliness about this Ezulu, nor could he say that he was not disturbed somewhat by what Nwoi had said of him, however, he did not feel threatened. But he would be wary of him.

Needless to say, Nwoi was both dumbfounded and startled. Ezulu had never given him a passing glance ere now, why speak to him even before addressing the Chieftain? And what perplexed him more was how Ezulu had spoken the Common Tongue. Of all the inhabitants of the Druadan, Ezulu was the most forthright in his dislike for outsiders. Why, then, would he care to learn the tongue of outsiders? It was hypocritical, to say the least and frightening to say the most. Where had he been all this time to so change him?

"_Ah, Lakmno_," Ezulu dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

"_Djou owrns glramakdtí . . . Ezulu, waardeí djou?_" questioned Ghân-buri-Ghân in the throaty Druedain language, trying his hardest to hide his surprise at this unexpected return. The Chieftain was not one to forsake another, and he had searched long and hard for his missing comrade, but it had all been to no avail. Even when he himself took up the hunt, all came to naught.

"_Vereč, lakmno,"_ he said with a grin that was hidden by his matted black hair. Yes, there was something different about him

"_Owrns mek pbraat . . . "_ Old Ghân stared deeply at the top of Ezulu's bowed head for a moment. He too, seemed perplexed by this turn of events. Of course, he was happy to have one of his warriors back . . . but Ghân was, in all his years, very perceptive and Ezulu's peculiarity was not lost on him. He shook his head as if to dispel his thoughts and turned to Aragorn, who he was to have audience with. "I am sorry, King of Man, may we discuss later? I learn where my warrior has been."

Aragorn nodded in agreement. "I understand." Indeed, he would much rather know that things were being dealt with, even if they did not include him. Ghân was a sagacious leader and would do what he deemed best. And Aragorn knew also that it was not his place to interfere with the dealings of these people. The Druadan lay within Gondor's territory, but it belonged solely to the Druedain. He would wait and see what happened, perhaps this was a joyous occasion and not the puzzling one it appeared to be? And so the Chieftain and his warrior disappeared within the hut, and Bahârrod was beckoned after them.

"Well that was . . . interesting," said Gimli at last, watching as the villagers began to disperse. There were things to be done, they knew, and as 'interesting' as it had all been, work was not wont to do itself. For a moment, no one spoke. Then at last a light entered Gimli's eye. "But what is more . . . Legolas, wherefore do you look as though a cave troll dragged you astir?"

"You are one to talk, Master Dwarf. When you burst into the daylight waving your axe I daresay I worried there _was_ a cave troll," Legolas replied, his eyes brimming. Aragorn raised a brow and waited for the Dwarf's response. As bothersome as their quibbling was, it was a welcome change from the morning's events. There was a need for lightheartedness. Nwoi watched with curiousity again as an argument began to take shape.

"You have yet to answer my question, _Elleth_," retorted Gimli. He had been expected that to be thrown in his face, but he yet had a trump card up his sleeve. "Dirt does not suit you,"

"Ah, I fear I must agree with you on the latter," Legolas both grinned and frowned simultaneously, as he reexamined his attire.

"Well that would be a first. I had thought that you, being an Elf, would naturally be incapable of coming to an agreement with a wiser being." At times, Gimli could swear that his long-legged companion could read minds. Somehow, Legolas always managed to guess at what Gimli planned, and therefore, only to irk him, said the exact opposite of what was anticipated. As for the nickname Gimli had given him, of which he was none too fond, he deemed it was a worthy sacrifice for revenge in the form of words. Even so, he could not help but inwardly cringe.

"A wiser being, you say?" Legolas answered with a smirk on his face. Aragorn knew that tone . . . somewhere inside that Elf's head a scheme was brewing. Gimli was being lead into a trap, the former Ranger knew, and soon he would be caught in the snare. The Prince was a master at tempting his Dwarf friend into saying something that could be transformed into a lethal weapon.

"Most certainly. All your years wear at your mind. Perhaps Dwarves do not live forever, but at least we live our lives with reason. Not like you Sindar, devoting yourselves unto all things green. No, we live more purposefully, and when we are gone the stone still remembers our name. Can you engrave your name in the stars and know that it will forever remain? Nay. We are just as immortal as the immortal themselves, for after death, we still live on." Gimli did not see it, but Aragorn swore he saw the light in his friend's eyes dim. Of all words, Legolas scorned most one Gimli had just said. Death. The prospect always seemed to sneak up on him when his was guard down, just as old-age crept unnoticeably until its wrinkles at last revealed themselves. And he would forget at times, that his time with them was limited, so when realization again hit him, it was doubly worse. With time he himself would not age, but words such as those were constant reminders that those he had surrounded himself would. Time was fleeting for him, and the thought of one day awaking to find that a dear friend would rise no longer devastated him. Those he loved most would not last. They would wither like leaves in the fall. And he would be left, a single green leaf upon barren boughs. "You say the elves are complex, but complexity does not suit those who are truly wise. The Dwarves know that in simplicity there lies happiness," Gimli finished, proud of his riposte.

"And with the ages, water erodes stone. But the sea cannot reach the stars. It can but hold their image. Do not wish for immortality, Gimli, it begets sorrow," Legolas sighed. This was one of those witty, yet obviously evasive responses that the Elf was wont to give. He had also taken great pains to say what he did. No longer could he speak the name of the sea without anguish. This was one of those topics he wished not discuss. He had lost his enthusiasm for this word game and whatever great scheme his mind had devised vanished like the whiffs of smoke that were wafting from the huts around them. "Child of Aulë, there is still much you do not know."

"Legolas . . . " Gimli breathed apologetically. He had not realized what impact his words might have and regretted ever speaking them, now. Winning a quarrel was not worth this. Nor did he truly think he had been victorious.

"Do not think of it. Besides, what would a simple Dwarf know of the Elves?" Legolas said with a smile that for a moment did not quite reach his eyes. Behind it, his throat had suddenly tightened up, and heart seemed to skip a beat. But stoicism was a skill that all Elves wielded well, and this Elf in particular had an unnatural knack for it. Some might say it is selfish to mask emotion from those dear to you, but Aragorn knew the truth of it. Legolas would not have others feel his sorrows. His altruism was also hidden behind closed curtains that might benefit others. "It is high time I shed this coat of dust." He turned to Nwoi, eyes bright with feigned luminance. "Have you water I may use?"

The young boy was scarcely able to disguise his jump at suddenly being addressed. He had been listening quietly, content to observe. Even now he still pondered what was said, and though he did not entirely understand, for some reason, Legolas' words saddened him. _So he is an 'Elf' . . . ?_ He thought, awestricken.

"Certainly," Nwoi sprinted to a small well nearby, it's short stone walls worn with age. Scooping up a clay pot, he filled it quickly with water and made to return. However, before he knew it, Legolas was standing next to him with the pot cradled in one arm.

"Do not burden yourself, I mean to do naught but . . . " Legolas lifted the clay pot over his head and let the water spill onto himself. With the dust, he prayed to the Valar that it would wash away the languishing ache that had so startlingly risen in the pit of his chest. He took a sharp intake of air as the wave of water hit him. The wet coldness of it all seemed to clear his mind as it rushed over his shoulders like the caress of a rivulet or a stream. He placed the clay pot on the ledge of the stone well and grinned down at Nwoi, water trickling down his neck. "I believe I needed that," he mused, eyes closed tight. And when he opened them, a veil of mirth guised his true thoughts and none there could penetrate it. "And Gimli, as far as your endearing moniker for me, you pronounce it poorly." Though perhaps, the others hoped, there was some steadfast mischief therein to be found.

"Hmph," was all Gimli said, or could say, in response. In truth, though he was overwhelmingly grateful that they could move on to different, less heart wrenching, topics, he could not dispute the fact that he was not in the least bit comforted. He knew now that Legolas was more aware of mortality than most mortal beings themselves. He supposed that this was what his friend hoped to spare those around him, by hiding it. Legolas shook his head and droplets flew from his hair like rays from the sun. "Let us find some breakfast, if the Elf is quite done dousing himself."

"Aye, that sounds aright. Nwoi, if you would be so kind, my companions and I shall retire to our quarters," Aragorn agreed. They needed something more to occupy their minds until their audience with the Chieftain.

"But, I will bring you bre- " Nwoi began.

"You are welcome to join us, all the same, we have brought our own supplies. Your hospitality is appreciated, but unneeded," Aragorn's tone was firm yet not unkind. But supplies they did have, in plenty. They had prepared for spending the nights beneath the night sky, not a roof, and had wound up being housed as guests regardless of intent. Besides, he was not a man who took kindly to being cared for.

"I am sure our mounts would appreciate our company . . . " Legolas chimed before Nwoi could object, craning his neck to look at the horses that chewed at the grass. His voice was not as ariose as was habitual.

And so it was decided, that they would break their fast beneath (and for a certain wet Elf, within) the trees that shaded the horses. The mounts, as Legolas had said, were very much thankful of having their riders nearby once more. Most did not know it, but even horses could grow bored of the same patch of grass after due time. And in Arod's opinion, it was past due time. They were set free of their tethers and let to roam about the forest, so long as they did not stray beyond the eyesight of an Elf.

Gimli was seated on a tree stump, chewing a piece of dried spiced meat. Meanwhile Aragorn was leaning against the tree that Legolas currently occupied. Nwoi was still trying to discern exactly how anybody could shimmy up a tree quite so fast as Legolas. At the same time, he was in conflict as to whether this 'bread' tasted any good. He had similar things in his village, but this was still something unfamiliar to him. At first it seemed too dry, and then not dry enough. Next he had been given a dried meat of sorts. This, at least, was something more recognizable. During colder times, meat, venison in particular, was dried and stored for hard times. Withal his taste buds, by the end of their ordeal, were hesitant to try any more foreign foods. Aragorn could not help but be amused by the strange faces the boy had made during his different stages of evaluating taste.

"This Ezulu," Gimli asked eventually, finishing his food and watching as Aragorn rummaged for his pipe, "has he always been of such a grim countenance?" It was quite a random question, considering the general discussion of foreign foods which had just come to a close. But, nevertheless, it was a question that had been nagging the Dwarf for some time now. Nwoi looked up from attentively observing Aragorn's doings. He was quite interested in the strange piece of wood the King of Gondor had just placed in his mouth.

"No," he answered after much thought, "no . . . not grim. He was serious, but that is not the same. Today he seemed different," his eyes traced the waft of smoke as it rose from the pipe and into the treetops, like a snake slithering up the air. As soon as it penetrated the treetops, there was a cough, sneeze, and a rustle of leaves before a rather large stick was cast down upon King Elessar. Aragorn put his pipe between his teeth, glanced upwards, and disregarded it. Gimli took out his own pipe.

"And he went on this scouting trip you spoke of earlier . . . alone?" asked the former Ranger, tapping the end of the pipe against his bottom lip in contemplation. How did Orcs manage to go unnoticed in a forest with eyes in every tree, every stone? That was no small feat... something strange was at work here...

"Without a doubt. He insisted that he should go alone. Our Chieftain was hesitant to allow it, but it was Ezulu's war-right, that is . . . he had won privileges, or so to speak. I suppose it was a matter of pride. He never liked to be helped."

"How far away were these Orcs situated, in relation to the village, do you know?" Nwoi rubbed his chin at this, trying to bring old memories into more detail.

"About a day and a half's hike into the mountains . . . it somewhat rocky, I am told, and stiff, but all and all it should have been a relatively safe journey." Aragorn made a sound that Nwoi assumed was something of a '_hm_.' He put the pipe back in his mouth, the wood clicking slightly as it touched his teeth, and was silent for a time. Again the smoke rose into the trees. Nwoi could have sworn he heard them complain, or grumble at least.

"I did not know the trees had voices," murmured Aragorn to himself, glancing upwards. And in retaliation, the tree sent down a shower of water. Aragorn shot to his feet, severely stunned. Water dripped from his dark locks of hair and his shirt was quite soaked. The culprit remained above, perched on his branch.

"They do," said Legolas, somewhat nettled. Directly above the small stream of smoke sat Legolas, wringing out his tunic and further dousing the King resting underneath. He stared down at the Aragorn as though the man were a child who had misbehaved, and the Elf had an expression of both distaste and roguishness. "And they say that smoking that repugnant thing is a filthy wont. But I shall say what they are too polite to, stop that," Legolas shook out his tunic once more to insure that he had made his point, gracing Aragorn with a light sprinkling before he draped it across the branch. Elves did not smoke pipes, and their senses were very sensitive to such things as smokes. Thus, Legolas had very little tolerance for such things. On occasion, he would turn a blind eye to it . . . but of all things, he could not stand its scent. Gimli would argue that this was another shortcoming of the Elves, however, Legolas could easily reverse the insult.

"Was that really necessary?" demanded Aragorn, somewhat irritated at not only being soaked from the midriff up, but that his pipe had been quenched in the process. He stared up at the Elf with the same disapproval with which a mother eyed a child, just as Legolas had done moments before. But both their eyes twinkled in the sunlight. Gimli was, in the meantime, trying desperately to stifle his laughs and making a very interesting sound in the process. Nwoi was torn between watching the tree-borne Elf and the King or the sputtering Dwarf who had turned a very interesting shade.

"Consider it your bath," chuckled Legolas with his hands on his hips. Aragorn sighed, though inwardly he was laughing, and settled down once more beneath the tree, albeit hesitantly. And he did not strike up his pipe again, nor did Gimli, for fear of a wrath that would befall him from above. Nwoi grinned. This was the beginning of a wonderful learning experience. Foreign lands certainly had strange customs. Legolas, confidant that his point had been made, likewise settled down upon his branch and sighed. For now, all was peaceful and the three travelers awaited their audience with the Chieftain. Then they would learn what needed to be learned, but now was a time for lightheartedness while it lasted..

And deep in the trees, though still under watchful eyes, Arod stumbled across something that should not have adorned the forest floor...

_To be continued..._

Translations:

_Elleth: _Elf maiden

_Lakmno_: Chief

_Djou owrns glramakdtí... Ezulu, waardeí djou?_: We have missed you (lit. We grieved you) Where have you been, Ezulu?

_Vereč, lakmno_: (far) Away, Chief.

_Owrns mek pbraat_ : We must talk.

_Poisonroot: the plant ground into a paste and applied to the arrow points of the poison arrows used by the Druedain. Hence the name. _

_Well, there's that. I tried to get the next chapter up as quickly as I possibly could. I hope you enjoyed. _

_Gismo: Thanks so much for your review! As I've said before, and will say again, I really appreciate them. You always write such wonderful reviews. I hope the language is working out. And I'm glad you had a good vacation. Yes, it is definitely the perfect time for fanfiction. I hope this cheers you up a bit! Till next time! _

_- Lintu ..._


	6. Heartache At Spearpoint

DISCLAIMER: I neither own nor claim to own any of the characters, names, places or references of or associated with Lord of the Rings. They are all sole property of Professor J.R.R. Tolkien and I earn nothing from this.

Ahem . . . I've been gone for SIX MONTHS, eep. Well, here's my story . . . I was sucked into a Naruto craze from which I have yet to emerge. My shackles of home/school work have yet to be removed . . . but there have been rumors that I'll be released some time in June, ne? Summer is coming quickly (and although I hate the heat, I'll be free from school and have all the time in the world for writing). I'm SOOOO sorry to have been gone so long . . . I hope you can forgive me . . . again.

Author's Note_: For the sake of clarity (and my sanity) the conversation between Ezulu and Ghân-buri-Ghân will be written in the common tongue. As always, translations of any other languages used are at the end of the chapter. Druadan, as I have recently learned, is, in addition to being the name of the forest, is also the singular form of Druedain and will be used from here on out. I hope you enjoy!_

Ezulu stormed up and down the hut, his feet producing loud thumps with each step. His hands were folded crossly over his chest. His very movements were testaments of his mood. On the day of his return, a day of celebration, a day of joy, the thought of outsiders being present outraged him. Was this how his clan would welcome him back, side by side with _outsiders_? These thoughts consumed him like a thick fog about his mind. The King of Men was the King of Men, not of these people; he had no place beneath the trees; his fortress was one of stone and white towers. The Druadan was a place for no man to set foot within, a sanctuary isolated from the rest of the waking world. How dare he disrupt that? Ezulu's glower deepened even as he ruminated further. But this was not what set alight the fire that blazed within him. The arrival of this revered man was a bad omen, but there was yet something worse. It was not the King himself who stirred such a pernicious rage. It was what the King had brought with him. An Elf. Few now knew of such creatures, but Ezulu knew. The children'stales told for thousands of years did not tell all there was, no. They did not even begin to describe.

"You seem angry, my warrior." The Chieftain's deep voice nearly caused Ezulu to jump, just nearly. And for this he was ashamed. It was disgraceful to become thus lost in thought and for it he reprimanded himself. Yet it was even more disgraceful for the thoughts of a warrior to be so easily perceptible. Ezulu squeezed shut his eyelids, took a deep breath, and turned to face his elder. Ghân-buri-Ghân's voice carried a hint of mockery, as it ever had. It was not a hurtful mockery, but one he used often. The Chieftain had a keen sense of humor, albeit somewhat bothersome. He knew the secret workings of the minds around him better even than did those minds.

"You have ever been skilled in reading the emotions of this one, my lord," said the warrior, pushing his troubles to the back of his mind. They were for a later time, when the eyes of the most perspicacious of all the Druadan Forest's inhabitants were drawn elsewhere.

Ezulu quickly remembered his role and grabbed the small coiled mat from against the wall and spread it neatly across the floor. Only a Chieftain was permitted to sit thus, as it had been for as long as any could remember. Ghân-buri-Ghân's lips twinged ever so slightly at the response, almost humorously. As the Chieftain lowered himself to the ground he began to laugh. Such a pure and mirthful and joyful laugh as only the Wild Men could conjure.

"Hmm . . . what is it that troubles you so?" The Chieftain's deep black eyes held no hint of emotion behind their jovially purposeful twinkle.

"My lord, it is the presence of outsiders that begets my ire. If I may ask it, why are they here?" As stoic as Ezulu had always been, it was beyond even his skills to mask his distaste for the foreigners.

"Why indeed?" Answered Old Ghân, straightening the strands of his grass skirt as he folded his legs.

"But my lord, they are outsiders!" Outsiders should not be welcomed here. They were a threat and a danger and yet still his very Chieftain had let them in. Ghân-buri-Ghân was allowing them to roam freely within the village itself. Ezulu did not understand his Chieftain's ways, nor had he ever. Ezulu had been present in the Stonewain Valley when King Theoden's men were lead down the secret path. Ezulu himself had gone to the Chieftain to express his reservations about such an act, yet the act had gone on despite him. The horsemen had slain kinsmen for sport, as game for the hunt. And yet when the tables had been so abruptly turned, Ghân-buri-Ghân had emerged from the woods to aid them.

"That they are," Ghân-buri-Ghân's eyes flitted to Ezulu. This was one who had seen countless years; his face was a ragged cliff side. The bags beneath his eyes like deep wrinkled crags. But_ behind_ his eyes there lay such a wisdom that few left in Middle-earth could surpass. "But they are not enemies." Ezulu was about to protest, but the Chieftain was not yet finished. He held up a strong, cracked hand to silence his subordinate. "We are the _Drûg._ Our hearts harbor no hatred, save for the _Gorgûn_. Why against them? They are hatred themselves, born of it and destined to die of it. You are one among us; what is this hatred you show? It is unnatural and has no place. You are a good soldier, do not soil that reputation with such feelings. They will lead only to your downfall. "

Ezulu nodded, trying his hardest to mask the impatience that was growing in the pit of his stomach. He was not a child. He did not need to be lectured on the ways of his people. The Chieftain sighed, his old eyes piercing his subordinate's facade. He waved his hand absently.

"Go then. And welcome home," the old Druadan raised a bushy eyebrowbeforeindicatingfor him to leave. A slight knocking from the other side of the cloth doorway stopped Ezulu as he left. "Come in" he heard the Chieftain say. Ezulu lifted the cloth to reveal Fearngost, the young warrior from Bahârrod' troop. He seemed anxious, and he held his shoulders tensely. "Speak," the Chieftain commanded kindly. He could see the worry spread across the warrior's face from where he sat; his brown brows knit tightly together.

"My lord, I was sent by Bahârrod with a message." The warrior paused, biting his bottom lip hesitantly. "Along with locating Ezulu in the woods, we have also discovered the body of Carbbidhe. They were found together, with the corpse of a _Gorgû__n_." Ezulu tensed for a fleeting moment at the mention of Carbbidhe, he quickly recovered. Ghân's eyes flicked to him then back to Fearngost. He sensed that there was more to be said. Fearngost continued. "Our troop arrived to witness Ezulu slay the _Gorgû__n_, and we saw Carbbidhe had fallen. We rushed to his side but we were not soon enough. Alas! He was slain . . ." Fearngost trailed off, his voice becoming no more than a whisper on his breath.

Carbbidhe had been Fearngost's good friend, Ghân-buri-Ghân knew. The warriors of each individual troop were assigned as soon as each had completed the basics of their training, earning the lowest ranks of merit. Each, for the entirety of their servitude, would fight under a captain who, in addition to being their commanding officer, was also their mentor. The troops were never disbanded, save in the unfortunate case of death. Therefore, the warriors within the troops formed deep bonds of friendship and brotherhood with one another; each would gladly protect another with his life. This was the strength of the Druedain. Undoubtedly, Bahârrod's troop was mourning the death of their comrade. The Chieftain allowed himself a sorrowful expression. Stoicism was impolite toward the deceased.

"I perceived a struggle, my lord, and hurried to its source. Carbbidhe had chased down an_Gorgûn_ at the borders of the realm. Before I could act, the_Gorgûn_ wounded Carbbidhe. I slew the_Gorgûn_ but the hurt that had been dealt Carbbidhe was mortal. His loss is my demerit. I was not swift enough." Ezulu bowed his head in a silent apology, his mass of dark hair shadowing his eyes. There was silence for a time, and Ezulu was reluctant to straighten himself.He felt eyes upon him, seeking out an answer to some unbidden question. At last old Ghân spoke, his voice lacking its usual mirth. Woe was a strange thing to hear in the voice of the Druedain leader; the wisest of them all was a master at stolidity. But he was not emotionless, far from it. Apathy was a necessity as a leader, but disuse or overuse of such a tool was not only foolishbut dangerous. To the Chieftain, his people were each his children to protect. He felt their hurts were his failings.

"Nay, Ezulu . . . death is a mysterious creature. It can be neither swayed nor stayed from its whims; it acts upon its own accord and very rarely is it betokened. It may pass the withering by to strike down the lively. It is not evil, for it begets renewal. Without it we could not exist, but too often does sorrow follow in its footsteps," the old Druadan took a deep breath, holding it within his lungs as if pondering its taste before releasing it in a huff. Slowly he stood, his knees cracking quietly as he did so. "Fearngost, kindly tell the King of Man that I regret having to delay our meeting yet again. He will understand if you explain the circumstances. Bahârrod's troop, yourself included, may watch over Carbbidhe's body. That is what he would have liked. Now, I must visit my warrior's place of death. He deserves as much. " Ghân-buri-Ghân indicated with a slight nod of the head that Fearngost was allowedto leave. The younger Druadan bowed before disappearing behind the cloth flap.Ezulu realized that he was to escort the Chieftain to Carbbidhe's body personally.

"I must say my farewells," breathed the old Druadan, pushing the cloth flap aside. The sunlight outside rollicked past, disappearing into the shadows of the hut. Ezulu sighed. There was much he had to do, and little time in which to do it. And even now, he began to cogitate his new plan. Despite his distaste towards the outsiders . . . the more he thought, the better they molded into the workings of something even better. But he could not go against the will of Ghân-buri-Ghân. Not yet. The harsh faced warrior watched as specs of dust floated in the golden rays of light before letting the cloth flap drop behind him.

The sun danced in the Elf's hair as he balanced on the branch of a tall tree. Numerous leaf-shaped shadows adorned his form, blending him blithely with the bark. It was midday and Legolas could feel the sun's warmth on his face. What a relief it was to be so deep in the woods, the life around him offering a vibrant conversation. A slight breeze brushed past his cheek in a caress. It was this same breeze that furrowed his brow. Legolas stood and sniffed the air curiously. No sooner had he done so than his nose wrinkled in disgust. Betwixt the fond scents of wildlife and vegetation, there was hidden a fouler scent. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Turning slightly, he slowly scanned the area, meticulously inspecting each direction with nose, eyes and ears. His efforts rewarded him with an alarming conclusion. Almost he could not believe his own senses.

He smelled death, and nearby. Legolas quickly and quietly dropped himself to the tree's lower limbs. Gimli was explaining the importance of beards, which Nwoi seemed unbiased to. Nonetheless the young Druadan was hanging on the Dwarf's every word. The Chieftain and a scarce few others had hints of beards. It was logical to assume it was important, Gimli had explained. As Legolas landed gracefully on the branch above King Elessar's head, he heard Gimli say something along the lines of "and the Elf is obviously of lesser importance than myself. Inasmuch as he lacks the skill to grow a beard, himself."

"And in that lacking, I am more than content," he flashed a grin at the Dwarf that masked his true thoughts, "for it would seem beards, taking such concentration to grow, diminish ones' ability to think." Aragorn chuckled, rubbing his chin. Men were known to grow beards as well, after all.

"Do not listen to him," Gimli said to Nwoi in a huff, "he is only jealous." Legolas shook his head, his senses still tingling with vigilance. Ever since Ezulu had arrived, Legolas had been left on edge. A sinking sensation in the pit of his chest warned him against the dark-haired warrior. This he felt he could keep to himself, for now, but the scent of a corpse was something he could not.

"Aragorn," he whispered, faintly hearing Nwoi's laughter in the background. He hoped the Dwarf was not spouting too much nonsense. Legolas swung noiselessly to the ground and crouched next to the former Ranger. Aragorn, who had been chewing absently on the end of his extinguished pipe, did not turn to the Elf but listened closely. He felt that Legolas wished to keep the conversation subtle. "There is something on the wind . . ." the King raised his brows at the tone in Legolas' soft voice, "I smell a . . . corpse." Legolas sounded almost as if he did not believe his own words.

Aragorn would have responded, had Legolas lingered long enough for him to do so. The Elf's head had abruptly swivelled towards the woods before he leapt into the trees without rustling a leaf. He had heard something anew. Aragorn waited in minor suspense for the report he knew would follow. _A corpse? Surely the Druedain are aware? _He thought, standing quickly and calmly. He brushed the dirt from his garb as he waited.

"The horses have found something . . ." Legolas murmured scarcely loud enough for Aragorn to interpret. "They are calling for their masters." Judging by the way Legolas held his body he was eager to go to them. The Elf's knees were bent ever so slightly, his muscles tense, poised to leap to the next tree.

Aragorn nodded his understanding. Legolas vaulted to an outreaching branch in a flash of green, heading deeper still into the thick woods.

"Where is he off to so hastily?" Gimli questioned gruffly. He had concluded his argument supporting the superiority of Dwarves with Nwoi scant moments ere Legolas' departure. The former Ranger was thoroughly impressed that the Dwarf had noticed the absence. He could not help butacknowledge the effect a certain Elf was having on him. "When traveling with _that one_," Gimli gestured towards the trees, "one must be constantly aware of his whereabouts. He took a liking to employing his stealth against me; I have since taken measures to preclude him."

"He is retrieving the horses," Aragorn explained, not wishing for Nwoi to hear of the corpse Legolas had mentioned. "But it would seem he would appreciate our company," he added, barely discerning the lithe form from amongst the foliage. Legolas was waiting to lead the way.

"Then by all means let us follow," Gimli replied in his deep voice, fastening his axe snugly unto his belt and readjusting his ever present helm (he was not inclined to leave it in the clearing). Aragorn turned to Nwoi as Gimli stood and entered the underbrush that marked the eve of the woods, considerably more discreetly than the former Ranger might have expected.

"Will you accompany us?" King Elessar asked the young Druadan, who was staring confusedly in the direction both Legolas and Gimli had so abruptly headed. For a moment, it seemed Nwoi was unaware of being addressed. His eyes widened suddenly when at last he realized Aragorn's request.

"Most certainly!" Nwoi replied, embarrassedly. He reprimanded himself for his lapse in concentration. Aragorn smiled warmly and hastened after his companions. The King did not want Nwoi to witness a corpse, however neither did he feel comfortable abandoning him. He knew Legolas would forewarn him as they neared, and so he felt marginally more comfortable allowing the young one to follow. In the back of his mind, he was ultimately aware that the boy would be faced with such horrors all too soon. Nwoi had the eyes of a warrior and the Druadan's personality seemed all too drawn to that lifestyle. There was potential for him to reach greatness by such a path, but the Druedain's isolation would not spare a warrior his pain. '_Besides_,' Aragorn sighed to himself,_ 'I have full confidence that he would follow us against our wishes. He is curious_.'

Nwoi hurried into the underbrush, which stood scarcely shorter thanhis shoulders. Fortunately, the former Ranger frontmost him had graciously created a path.

Farther ahead, Gimli could hear the hiss of the forest growth as it shifted around him. He took pride in how little sound his heavy boots produced with each footfall. Whilst visiting Fangorn, a memory that Gimli was wont to barricade, he had been devastated by Legolas' declaration that the Dwarf's steps were so loud as to scare away even the Ents. 'That,' the Elf had said, 'is precisely why we have yet to see one.' Legolas had been exaggerating, of course. The Prince of Mirkwood knew that they would not be likely to see another Ent in their lifetimes since Treebeard and those present at Isengard. They had been witnesses to a very rare event then. He also knew that Dwarfs, despite his comments of them, were very capable of stealth. Nonetheless, it was motivation for Gimli to drastically quiet his steps. It had taken many months of practice and he was intensely proud of the feat. The trees had become thicker now, withvery little of the sun's light penetrating the canopy. The Dwarf swerved around several trunks of impressive girth. It seemed to be more moist here, the sun unable to dry up linger rainfall. He inhaled deeply. The trees smelled nice . . . but . . .

He paused, suddenly profoundly aware of the scent in the air. It was barely perceptible, but utterly present, putrid, heavy, pungent and sweet in the most nauseating of ways. It came as a wafture, consuming the once pure air around him with all the force of a wave against the shore. He felt his stomach turn. _This is what Legolas sensed _. . . Gimli surmised. He squinted his eyes marginally to see that the Elf had stopped, now on the forest floor in a patch of sunlight. Shadows flickered across the ground as the breeze rustled the branchesabove.The horses stood at his side. The Prince gave a loud whistle to insure that his companions knew his location. _He must have found it._

The Dwarf sensed Aragorn hindmost him. He was dimly aware of Nwoi's presence as well, albeit he could not truly hear the Druadan. Nwoi's silent footfalls were awe-inspiring. There was not a single crinkle of leaf nor snap of a twig; complete silence. The Druedain were indeed an astonishing race. Gimli wagered that Nwoi rivaled even Legolas in his skill. _Nwoi!_ He remembered. He could not let Nwoi know of what they approached. It would not be a sight fit for a boy so young.

Gimli heard Aragorn ask Nwoi to stop, but ere either could react, the boy had sped past the both of them, soundless and swift. If the boy's senses were of any likening to his footsteps, he had undoubtedly smelled it. The corpse. Gimli felt mildly foolish for believing he could hide such a thing from someone with keener senses than himself. Nwoi had probably smelled the corpse long before the he had, the Dwarf guessed. Aragorn yelled to Legolas.

The Elf looked up, quickly sidestepping between Nwoi and his destination. With his hands he beckoned the horses to barricade the remains from sight before nimbly catching the small boy in his arms. The horses' sides effectively hid the corpse. He struggled to restrain him, placing a hand over Nwoi's eyes to insure that the horrible sight went unseen.

"Wait, Nwoi, wait," Legolas said softly, shifting his body to better prevent Nwoi's escape. The boy calmed somewhat, ceasing his struggles. He seemed fixed to protest. Before he could do so, the horses sounded a startling cry. They were spooked into movement, stamping their hooves worriedly, eyes wide with fright.

Six Druedain warriors leapt from the brush with such an alarming swiftness that even Legolas was taken by unawares. How long had they hidden there, unseen and unperceived? His brow furrowed deeply as the intimidating warriors surrounded him. They had seen Legolas restrain Nwoi and easily recognized their kin. They believed Legolas was harming the boy. Legolas stood as still as stone, his head raised. The Elf was concentrating deeply, trying in vain to track the footfalls of those hindmost him. They crept slowly closer, their movements untraceable until their spear points were threateningly close to his neck. Deep within the warriors' unending black eyes their emotions were hidden.

Aragorn and Gimli were cut off in their attempt to reach their friend, three of the warriors instantly halting their process. Aragorn recognized one of the warriors as belonging to Bahârrod's troop. If only Bahârrod himself were present!Nwoi broke free of Legolas' grasp, spreading his arms protectively in front of the Elf.

"_Nma!_" The boy shouted, his voice unwavering and commanding. "_Ma nma!_" The warriors stood their ground, poised as statues forever ready to strike. And then, by pure and horrible chance, Nwoi turned to face the corpse, Legolas having been rendered unable to stop him. The boy's eyes widened in fear, the whites of his eyes flashing eerily behind the almost interminable dark irises. In those eyes Legolas saw such a sorrow that sent a chill down his spine. The Druadan's face paled a ghostly white.Nwoi fell against Legolas as his knees gave out, his lips quivering uncontrollably. The Elf lowered him gently to the ground, ignoring the spears that followed dangerously close to his flesh.

"Legolas!" Gimli shouted, fearing that his friend had fallen from injury. Next to him, Aragorn visibly tensed. The horses stamped their hooves, snorting nervously. He reached for his axe, feeling the sharp points barely prick his skin. He could not move. Gimli did not see any way the spear points would not pierce the delicate skin at Legolas' neck. He was awestricken when he saw no blood. No harm came to his companion. The Druedain warriors' control was unerring, despite their weapons being less than a hair's breadth from flesh. They were no less threatening in their stance.

"_Mno_ . . ." Nwoi breathed. Aragorn watched the eyes of their captors soften, their bushy brows creasing in what he recognized as heartache. He turned to Legolas. The Elf wore an expression of confusion and pure concern as he stared down at Nwoi, his own life-threatening situation heedlessly forgotten. Tears began to stream down the boy's cheeks, and Legolas was struck by how young the Druadan truly was. He had not realized until now. Gone was the mature facade he had masqueraded in ere now.

"Nwoi?" He questioned softly, stroking the boy's mat of dark hair in a desperate effort to comfort him. The spears continued to follow his movement, glinting in a chance ray of sunlight. Nwoi buried his face in Legolas' chest, pulling hysterically at the fabric of his jerkin. The young Druadan wasweepingnow, Aragorn and Gimli could see. His small form was breathing erratically, racked by the power of his sobs. "Nwoi?" Legolas questioned again, his voice gentle and comforting. His face was lined heavily with worry, and he continued to stroke the boy's hair. And then he heard it, a muffled, barely audible moan.

"Father . . ." Legolas' breath caught in his throat. Nwoi's fists clenched tightly at Legolas' jerkin as the boy gave a strangled and quaking cry. He continued to sob, shaking uncontrollably, hidingagainst the Elf's chest. Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood and Elf of countless years heardmore suffering in one word than he had in his lifetime. "_Mno . . _." The Druedain warriors' spears were drawn back slowly and sorrowfully. They stood at the ready, but each knew they were unneeded. Spread across their wide faces was undiluted grief. Aragorn lowered his head and Gimli removed his helm, dropping it to the ground.

Such was the scene the Chieftain arrived to. The site of Nwoi sobbing hopelessly in Legolas' arms was enough to send the most powerful Druadan of his time to his knees.

Ezulu watched with unyielding black eyes and a grim sense of amusement. Yes, he very much liked the sight of his Chieftain in such adevastated state. He grinned to himself as he watched Nwoi. He felt an urge to laugh outright, but locked his jaw. He had wondered how long it would take before the boy learned of his father's death . . . He hadn't expected it to turn out quite so interesting.

_To be continued . . ._

Ah, I hope you enjoyed the chapter . . . I pulled an all nighter to write it. /checks watch/ Eek, I just watched the sun rise. . . and I have school tomorrow . . . Oh well. Sleep deprivation has yet to kill me.

Translations: _"Nma . . . Ma nma!" "Stop . . . enough, stop!"_

_"Mno" "father"_

_Drûg_ The Druedain's name for themselves (This is a word of Tolkien's creation, taken from his 'Unfinished Tales.')

Responses:

Raspberry: I'm so sorry to have made you wait as long as I have. Thank you so much for your comment! I really appreciate it!

Navaer Lalaith: Thank you so much for addressing that, actually. I've done the best I can with the aid of my book and Pedin Edhellen (a sindarin program) but I guess I'll just have to keep working at it. Thank you so much for going into detail. It's extremely helpful. I'll be sure to go back and fix the errors. I really appreciate your help!

Lyn: Thank you!

LunaML: Ah, Katie . . . maybe you shouldn't say that around so many LotR fans. Eep. Regardless, thanks so much for the comment! I can't believe we didn't get to do anything over spring break!

Tamelia: Thank you! To be compared to Tolkien makes my heart flutter. Goodness, thank you so much for your kind words! You've made my day.

Nominwen: Rachel, I haven't seen you in so long! Happy (belated) Birthday! You have to tell me what you'd like as a present. I'm no good at that sort of thing. I'll put a pronunciation guide at the end of this chapter. Some of the words are real tongue twisters, after all. Ah, you used like and simile in the same sentence. Punny! I didn't get to see you over spring break, either!

Gismo/nervous laugh/ Two chapters in a week and then I disappear . . . I'm so sorry! I'm glad I cheered you up beforehand, at least. I'm glad Ezulu has sparked your curiosity, he's meant to, he is the main antagonist, after all. Shh...Don't tell anyone, but your second guess about Ezulu is almost dead on! Good job! I'm glad you liked the part about Legolas . . . his situation always makes me sad. But it also makes me think. Ah, and I'm so glad you liked the bit about trees, and Nwoi too. Cliffhangers, eek . . . and ones that drag out for six months, too. In any case, thank you sooo much for your review! Honestly, I look forward to your comments every time I write a chapter. I hope you're still with me.

Lintu . . .

P.S. Pronunciation! Since Nominwen was wondering, here it is. If anyone has questions, feel free to ask. These are all the correct spellings, however, in many of the chapters, for example, Bahârrod lacks the 'â.' (Because I always forget to add it.)

Nwoí (Na - Woa - oii) The 'na' and 'woa' should be right on top of each other, like a single syllable. It sounds a bit like the 'noy' in 'annoy,' but with a 'w' after the 'n'.

Bahârrod (Bah- ha- rod)

Ezulu (Eh- zoo- lu)

Carbbidhe (Carb -bid- day)

Fearngost (Fern- gast)

Druedain (Drew- ii- dane)

Gor_g_ûn (Gore- gun) I'm assuming that Tolkien intended the 'u' to be elongated.

P.P.S. I'm sorry this chapter was so short. I'm trying to sort out the details and cement the plot. I have so many ideas for this fic . . . I think I've come up with what I intend to write, but my mind is a fickle thing.


	7. Kind of an Author's Note

-1**Not really the Author's note: **I hope seeing that this is not a new chapter will not crush your hopes or anything, but seeing as it's been 2 years I doubt many people are still watching my dear sister's stories. Ah, yes, just to tell you this is Jamie's sister is writing this. I've recently re-come across Jamie's stories and felt bad for the people who've been waiting for some kind of update. Well, since I'm Jamie's little sister, I've been able to weedle my way into her account (Ok, so she gave me the password awhile ago….) so I'm putting this on for her. Fear not faithful readers, Lintulinda i luvasi ello''s sister is here to kick her butt into motion and, hopefully, get her writing again! I mean, if I could write as good as my sibling and knew what she planned to do with the rest of the story, I'd write it myself, but alas, I'm not as good as my idol and have no idea in hell what goes on in her head. So, I give you this bit of hope, that I might get her to finish these stories, and hope you might still be waiting patiently when the chapters finally come. This is meant for both stories….

**-**Maddie (Jamie's much loved ((aha)) sister)

**P.s: **She might kill me when she finds this…..Hoo hum.


End file.
